OYL Nightwing
by David Golightly
Summary: Issue ten now online! It's Part Four of Seven in STREET SWEEPERS! R&R please. It's been awhile since the last issue, so you might want to go back and reread.
1. Home Is Where the Crime Is

**Nightwing**

Issue #1

"Home is where the crime is."

A dark figure moved silently across the rooftops of Gotham City. He hadn't been in this neighborhood for quite some time, but his memories of the area were as clear as ever. Not much had really changed. The chimneys and exhausts were where he remembered them to be. The same statues and skylights were where they always were. Muggers, rapists, pickpockets, and murderers were all still haunting the allies.

_The more things change, the more they stay the same_, Dick Grayson, a.k.a. Nightwing, thought to himself.

It was true that it had been a while since Nightwing had chased prey across this city, but it had been even longer since he was asked a favor of this magnitude. It had barely been a year since…well, since he and Bruce decided on different ways of handling things.

That had always been the problem between them. Bruce Wayne, his adoptive father figure, the Dark Knight Detective, his teacher and mentor, did not always see things as Nightwing saw them. Nightwing was more of a…"people person." He trusted that there was good in most people. Bruce was of a more paranoid nature. He kept most at arm's length.

_Can't blame the guy_, Nightwing thought as he vaulted over a gargoyle statue onto the next rooftop, _Bruce has experienced the darker side of the human soul as the Batman for years. I suppose it's only natural._

After rounding the corner of another building, Nightwing caught a visual of his prey: Tommy Minh, carrying a large satchel. The satchel was filled to the brim with stolen diamonds, which had been taken from a safety deposit box inside the safe at Gotham Savings and Loan. Tommy, along with his crew, had avoided the building's security measures during the break-in. It was impressive; Tommy's crew had managed to rob the place completely undetected…except for the sensors Batman himself had installed.

_Paranoid or not, Bruce is good_, Nightwing thought.

Nightwing watched as Tommy Minh walked to the end of the block, set the satchel down, and lit up a cigarette. Like a lot of the inhabitants of this neighborhood, the street light he was standing under was burnt out. Tommy was probably waiting for a pickup or an exchange. Nightwing had dealt with the Minh family before, back when Bludhaven was habitable. He had even helped them out a couple of times. He didn't trust them, but he did know that they were dead serious when it came to business deals, and they covered their tracks well. If someone was meeting Tommy to pick up those diamonds, chances were they would never be seen again. The time to act was now.

Nightwing reached up to a tiny earpiece imbedded in his hearing canal, activating the device. "Hey, Babs," he whispered.

A strong feminine voice responded:Oracle when we're working, lover.:

"Sorry," Nightwing said, shaking his head after realizing his small mistake. In their line of work, even a small mistake could spell disaster later on. "I've got Tommy Minh in front of me, evidence in hand."

:I've already hacked into GCPD dispatch, and I'm sending two squad cars to where your GPS says you are. ETA: three minutes.:

Barbara never ceased to amaze him. She was always one step ahead. "I'll leave a nice present for the boys in blue then. Thanks, Oracle. I'll be home in a couple hours."

:Then there will be a nice present waiting for _you_ to unwrap, former boy wonder: Oracle replied playfully, before cutting off the communiqué. Nightwing simply smiled.

Dropping from his perch on a nearby ledge, Nightwing silently came up behind Tommy. Seemingly melting away from the shadows, Tommy never even had the chance to turn around.

"I wouldn't take you for a common loiterer, Tommy," said Nightwing.

Tommy jumped, obviously startled. He spun around to see Nightwing's fist slam into his jaw. The next thing Tommy knew, he was on the ground.

"I've places to be tonight, Tommy, I'll make this quick."

Tommy, the vocabulist that he was, let fly a long string of obscenities while drawing out a 9mm handgun from inside his jacket. Faster than Tommy could follow, Nightwing slapped the gun out of his hands with the back on his right hand, and flowed with the momentum, spinning and connecting with the bottom of his right foot across Tommy's face.

Tommy cradled his chin, blood dripping down from his nose. "Wuff the fuff, mon!"

"I'll pretend I didn't hear that." Nightwing began to pull long stretches of high-composite cable from inside his almost invisible and seamless belt. The cable was very thin and extremely flexible, but at the same time was strong enough to withstand close to a metric ton of pressure. He could carry yards upon yards of the stuff without weighing down his costume.

When the police arrived a minute later, Nightwing witnessed them pull Tommy Minh down from the street lamp he was strung up on. The officers collected the satchel full of diamonds, secured the scene, and waited for the forensics team. None of them looked the least bit amazed at the sight of a known gangster tied to a street light.

_The more things change…_Nightwing thought as he silently crept back into the shadows to continue on his way. He had many more roofs to jump before he went home to unwrap his present.

---

"Honey, I'm home!" Dick said. He felt corny, but who cared? He was happy to be home.

Dick Grayson, out of his costume, dampened his face with a soft, green towel. Thwarting several muggers after his little diamond exchange interception earlier that night had caused him to work up a bit of a sweat.

"Up in the Nest!" he heard Barbara call down. She had barely come down from the tower since they had moved in last week. She called it "the Nest." In actuality, the Nest was the highest point in a tower on top of the Grissom Bridge.

It was a pretty sweet setup…the central pillar of the suspension bridge, which was in the heart of south Gotham (right above the harbor), had everything they needed. The Nest at the top held all of Babs' equipment she utilized as Oracle, the super hero information broker. Directly underneath that were full living quarters, equal in size to maybe a three-bedroom apartment. The bottom of the support pillar, of course, rested beneath the waves of the river. An elevator provided them transport to the base and an airlock for easy access to any watercraft. Also at the bottom was the entrance to a series of tunnels that led out in all directions to the city.

This was where they both lived now. They had settled in, for the most part. At least as much as a couple can settle in after only a week. It wasn't the most social of places…Dick doubted that they would be throwing any grand parties anytime soon. However, as a public face, they had decided to rent an apartment several blocks away, so the city had a record of their address. Who knows, they might even stop and see the place sometime soon.

He liked their new base of operations, but he felt it was a little too similar to some cartoon he saw once about a duck in a cape. It was a lot different than his apartment back in Bludhaven. Most of that was gone now, though. Bludhaven was currently little more than a big pile of rubble at best.

_I feel a little guilty about leaving the 'Haven behind, but with the now homeless criminals gouging their way into Gotham, aren't I needed more here? I've got a history with some of these guys, and now they're looking to set up shop all over again. The Minhs don't seem to be phased all that much…_

He walked over to the elevator that would take him to the Nest. Peering out the window as the lift began to move, he saw the river below. Twenty-one dead men had floated _up_ that very river into Gotham when a drought backed up the estuary. It seemed like decades ago Batman had sent him to Bludhaven to investigate. The bodies had their necks broken and twisted by the large hands of Blockbuster, Bludhaven's self-appointed crime lord.

Dick had found a home there. He had gone out on his own, and he proved he could handle an entire city by himself. Batman looked at him more as an equal now instead of a sidekick. He attributed a lot of that respect to Bludhaven.

_It was a favor that sent me there_, Dick thought, _and now a favor is bringing me back to Gotham. I'm not surprised that Bruce asked me to come back, or that he divided up the city like he did…but I am surprised that he's been so quiet since my return. I didn't expect him to bug me constantly, but I thought he would check in every other day._

As the elevator reached its destination, Dick stepped out into the cozy area the woman known as Oracle had claimed as her own. Expensive equipment was stacked all over shelves lining the walls. Wires and thick cables were strewn about the floor, making it hard to walk in certain places.

"Babs?"

"Be right there!" she called out from above him somewhere. Looking up, Dick saw Barbara strapped into a safety harness about fifteen feet above him, carefully connecting what he recognized as a backup power supply in case the power was cut out unexpectedly…which happens more often than one might initially guess.

She finished the connection and released the brace on the harness, sending her sliding down through the air on a cable just like the one he had used to tie up Tommy Minh earlier. She decelerated her fall just before plopping into her wheelchair. As Dick was having a little trouble stepping over all the cables on the floor, she seemed to have no problem navigating over to where he was.

He leaned down and kissed her full on the lips, eliciting a soft moan of approval from her. "How was the rest of the night?"

"Typical. You have everything up and running here?"

"Pretty much. We don't have any non-lethal defenses set up yet, but everything else is about finished. I'll tweak it as I go along, but this is pretty much it."

"Well, how about taking a little break from tweaking and spending some quality time with your husband?"

Barbara Grayson wheeled back slightly and looked at Dick with a raised eyebrow. "Aren't you tired from saving the world tonight, Adult Wonder?"

"Maybe I should change my name to that; has a nice ring to it," Dick said, mockingly, "Or maybe I'll change it to…the Tickler!" The hero quickly began tickling his wife, causing her to squirm. It wasn't long, however, before the sounds of her laughter turned into sounds of another kind.

---

The next morning, Dick awoke in their shared bed by himself. Barbara was probably already up in the Nest installing some other technical device, he assumed. After a quick tour of the bathroom, Dick made his way to the "gym." It wasn't any bigger than their bedroom, but with a few collapsible pieces of exercise equipment, he could get a full workout with no problems.

He went through his routine on the various machines, feeling the burn in his muscles as the lactic acid began to build up. One of the things his great teacher had taught him about martial arts was that size doesn't usually matter…but stamina and endurance do. Keeping fit gave him the speed he needed to out maneuver most opponents.

After some stretches designed to help cool down from the workout, Dick walked back toward the bathroom, but stopped when he heard his wife on the phone in the kitchen.

"The protocol connections can wait; it's the stylized matrix I'm worried about," he heard her say as he approached. Seeing him out of the corner of her eye, she wheeled around and said, "Hold on, he's walking over now, Bruce."

"Bruce?" Dick mouthed as he took the phone from Barbara. She nodded an affirmative in response. He raised the receiver to his mouth and said, "Hello?"

:Good morning, Dick. I trust you're ready for some leads:

_That's Bruce, always business_, Dick thought before he replied, "Yeah, what do you have?"

:Several things. Sources indicate that Oswald Cobblepot just filed the paperwork for his new nightclub on 34th Street, called "Icetopia." The forms and licenses are all legit, but he paid for the building in full with cash.:

"After having declared bankruptcy seven months ago?"

:Precisely. When Bludhaven was destroyed, it seems Penguin lost most of his legal assets, but he still managed to keep some from being seized. Even still, he shouldn't have that much money. Look into it. As you well know, when Bludhaven was decimated, a large section of the populace went up the river to Gotham, which is why you are where you are. There's already a power struggle in northern Gotham, I don't need one in the south, too.:

"I'll take care of it," said Dick, "What else?"

:Tommy Minh was released on bail this morning at 9 o'clock sharp.:

Anger and confusion engulfed Dick's mind. "What! I watched the police collar him red-handed! He's a flight risk if I ever saw one. How the hell did he get out on bail?"

:Minh's lawyer was able to convince a judge that the diamonds couldn't have come from Gotham Savings and Loan since no evidence was found of a break-in. Apparently, there was no record of the diamonds being put into the safety deposit box they were supposedly taken from.:

"But, the sensors you installed…"

:…did not malfunction. Tommy Minh and his gang stole those diamonds, and erased 100 of the evidence of the crime. They may have connections within the system already; I'm not sure. You know them better than I do.:

Dick certainly knew them. One of the first things he had done in Bludhaven was try to save some of Lady Minh's kids. Only the kids turned out to be her unfertilized eggs, which he found out just in time to be caught off guard and sent to the bottom of the drink. He barely escaped that little jaunt. His other encounters with the Minhs hadn't wound up much better than that.

"It's never simple with those guys," said Dick, shaking his head. "I'll try and figure out how they did it, or at least gather some evidence to land a conviction. Any tips?"

:However they did it, they had to have help from inside the bank. When I installed those sensors, I made note of the intense security already in the place. I honestly never expected it to be robbed without an explosion or two. I'll contact you in if I need to pass on something else.:

Dick heard the unmistakable sound of the person on the other end of the line ending the call. _Abrupt as usual_, thought Dick.

"I take it you'll be making a few visits this evening, Mr. Grayson," said Barbara.

"Looks like. Bruce hung up before I could ask him some things, though. What if I had information to give him? I don't even know how to reach him."

"That's Bruce for you," Barbara said dismissively, "If he isn't aware of it, it must not be important enough to know. _Did_ you have some info for Ol' Bats?"

"No…just some questions." _Like why he still acts like Gotham is his town when he hasn't even been in the same zip code for months._

---

Later that night, Nightwing, in his full black and blue costume, made his way onto the roof of Gotham Savings and Loan. If he was going to try and prove Tommy Minh was ever in the building, he needed to prove how the robbery was committed.

Oracle had tracked down some basic information earlier that day that had proved helpful. Whoever owned those diamonds did not want anyone to know who they were. Oracle had found an entry in the bank's database showing activity in the account that supposedly didn't exist. Someone left the diamonds in that safety deposit box about a month ago. Oracle had uncovered the transaction, but there was nothing pointing to the identity of who did it.

_Why wouldn't the owner want their expensive property recovered?_ Nightwing thought, _Unless the owner had acquired those diamonds by illegal means. Blackmail perhaps?_

Nightwing moved silently across the roof, especially for how quickly he was moving. His boot tread, while very durable and rife with traction, provided a certain level of sound dampening for his footsteps. It came in handy for all the times he needed to sneak up on someone.

His eyes gazed over the surface of the roof, trying to figure out how the robbers had gotten in. The first sensor of Batman's that had been tripped was in the ventilation shaft just a few feet to his left. The bank must have had sensors covering that entry point, too, so how had they gotten around them and not Batman's?

Reaching the edge of the grating, Nightwing slid his fingers along the seal, trying to determine where the bank's magnetic alarms must be. "Bingo," he said as soon as he felt a small knob just below the top right corner of the grate. Keeping his one hand on the knob so he wouldn't have to search for it again, Nightwing reached to his belt with the other. He pulled out a very small, thin, black cylinder and held it up to the knob. Pressing a small button on the cylinder, he heard a soft click as the magnetic alarm became disarmed.

After safely pulling the grate off, Nightwing entered the ventilation shaft. It was a bit cliché, but he didn't have time to find an alternate means of getting in. Besides, this seemed to be how Tommy Minh did it.

A few feet in, the air shaft abruptly dropped straight down, and he could hear the large air conditioner supplying cold air to the entire building. The building was only three stories tall; not large by any means. It wouldn't take long to drop down to the main floor where the vault was.

_I'll just secure my drop line, and slide on down. As soon as I get a visual I'll give Babs a call to see what she's turned up while monitoring my little break-in. Maybe she's even found something out about the diamonds._

Nightwing placed a magnetic grappler to the top of the ventilation shaft to use as an anchor for his drop line. Swinging out into the narrow space, he began to repel his way down the shaft to the first floor.

He hadn't gone more than ten feet before he heard a quiet "beep!" Just below him, he saw a red light flash and a flimsy perforated metal slab slid across the air shaft.

_Motion sensor?_ Nightwing thought, _Probably to keep birds or something out in case the grating got knocked loose._ Whatever had happened, the metal slab had cut off his descent.

"Oracle?" Nightwing said, raising his hand to his ear.

:Oracle here: she replied into his earpiece.

"I'm in the ventilation shaft, and I've just been obstructed by a metal mesh set off by a motion sensor. Can you disable it from the Nest?"

:Are you in the vertical part of the shaft:

"Yeah, just a few feet lower than the roof level."

:No alarms went off. Must be to keep birds out or something. Okay, there should be wiring for the bank's security network in between the shaft and the building foundation. Punch through the shaft and connect my little black box to the wiring. I'll need to be patched in directly to override things.:

Nightwing grabbed the small box Oracle had given him that was clipped to his belt. He fastened the high-composite cable to his belt and grabbed another tool that would enable him to cut through the side of the metal shaft like it was butter. In just a few moments, he was through and attaching the box to the wiring.

"All set," he notified.

:Gimme a sec.: Nightwing could hear her quickly typing on a keyboard. A few seconds later, the mesh slid back, leaving his path clear once again.

"Thanks, babe. Nightwing out."

:Hold on: she quickly said. :I'm looking through the bank's system, and the motion sensors on the whole first floor have been shut off. I thought maybe I did it by accident when I shut off the motion sensor in the air shaft, but it looks like they haven't been on since early this morning when the bank first opened.:

"Is someone in the building right now? Maybe the manager is working late," Nightwing said, even though he doubted that a bank manager would work until three in the morning.

:No, the thermographs aren't detecting anyone there. Something feels fishy about this to me, Nightwing.:

"I'll get a better look when I drop down to the first floor. Maybe they just forgot to set them tonight. It happens. Nightwing out." He started his descent again, his mind trying to wrap around the situation.

It didn't take him long to drop the remaining sixty-odd feet to the first floor. At the bottom of the air shaft, Nightwing laid down on his stomach to get a view out of one of the air conditioning grates. What he saw he didn't like.

The safe was wide open, and three men dressed in black, complete with black ski masks, were unloading large satchels from the vault. Satchels just like the one he took off of Tommy Minh last night.

_They're robbing the place again! Not even a day after the first robbery!_

One of the three men stopped abruptly and dropped the satchel he was carrying. He raised his hand as a signal for the other two men to do the same, and reached around to the small of his back. He pulled out a small handheld computer with an antenna. He pushed a few buttons and turned to face his companions.

"Trouble," he told them, "Someone else is here."

The man turned to face Nightwing's general direction, although he wasn't looking right at him. His eyes seemed to be skimming the wall, looking for something.

"Whoever it is, they're somewhere on the other side of that wall," he said as he returned the handheld device back to it's resting place. "Light it up!"

Not missing a beat, the other two men swung Uzis around from behind them and let loose a wave of hot lead into the wall. Nightwing could see from his position that the bullets would soon reach his corner of the air shaft, so he had to come up with a plan fast to save his own hide.

_Unless Babs really wants to spend the next couple days stitching me up._


	2. Bullets, Banks, and Babies

**Nightwing**

Issue #2

"Bullets, banks, and babies."

_Well, this is just fantastic_, Nightwing thought.

The costumed hero quickly squirmed back to the vertical part of the ventilation shaft he was currently hiding in. Or at least, he thought he had been hiding. Somehow, the crooks knew where he was, and they were sending wave after wave of bullets into the wall he was behind.

Tommy Minh had somehow stolen diamonds from Gotham Savings and Loan without anyone knowing about it. Nightwing had gone to the bank to try and find out how he did it, only to witness the bank being robbed barely a day after the first heist.

The former boy wonder grabbed hold of his drop line he had used to repel down the inside of the air shaft. Years of training and experience showed as he shot up the cable faster than most of the world's athletes could have. He heard the loud "thunk!" of bullets slamming into and through drywall. He had barely made it, but he was intact.

"Grab what you can and get moving!" one of the men yelled from the other side of the wall.

Nightwing, assuming they were done firing and now filling their hands with stolen merchandise, let go of his drop line and hit the bottom of the air shaft. He fell into a crouch and kicked out the air conditioning grate he had been looking through. Faster than the robbers expected, Nightwing was through the opening and on his feet.

_This is where a good, solid one-liner would come in handy,_Nightwing mused as he grabbed his patented escrima fighting sticks from behind his back.

Without hesitation, Nightwing pushed off the top of a nearby desk with one foot, sending him flying over one of the criminals. As he passed over the crook's head, Nightwing curled his body and bashed one of the escrimas against his opponent's skull. The man was unconscious before he hit the floor.

The remaining two robbers dropped their satchels and grabbed their Uzis. Hot lead sprayed across the room as Nightwing landed from his short flight. He used his momentum from the jump to roll behind a support beam. The pillar was thick enough that the bullets slicing through the air couldn't work their way through. As soon as he steadied himself behind the pillar, Nightwing popped out two small pellets from a compartment in his gauntlets.

The gunfire suddenly died off and silence blared. _Thirty round clips. Time to reload, boys._

Taking advantage of the sudden lull in opposition, Nightwing swung out from behind the support beam. He broke into a run heading straight for the robbers, after first launching the two pellets. When they struck the floor a couple of feet in front of the men frantically trying to reload their weapons, twin bursts of dark smoke erupted, shrouding Nightwing's approach.

Surprised, one of the men dropped his weapon and started swinging randomly at the smoke. The lenses in Nightwing's mask helped him see through the haze and he easily dodged the wild arms of his opponent. Nightwing rammed one of his escrima sticks into the man's abdominal muscles, forcing him to double over in pain. He was now in the perfect position for Nightwing to knock him unconscious much in the same fashion as he had the crook's partner. A fraction of a second later, the man lay motionless on the floor.

"Mick! Mick! Say something!"

The voice had come from the only remaining thief. Nightwing could hear trembling in his words along with several clicking sounds. The criminal was shaking so much that he wasn't able to put the clip into his gun. Nightwing was still covered by the smoke, so the man wouldn't be sure where to aim anyway.

"Mick can't hear you right now," said Nightwing, "How's about we have a little chat?"

A final click sounded as the last man standing succeeded in arming his weapon. "G…g…go to hell!"

Bullets whizzed passed Nightwing's head. This experience would scare most people, but most people hadn't been in this situation since their childhood. Truly, Nightwing almost felt at home when someone was threatening his life. After a split second of wondering what a psychiatrist might say about that, Nightwing flipped sideways through the smoke. His right arm flashed out, releasing a sharp, metal object.

The criminal felt a sharp pain suddenly grip his left hand. His reflexes caused him to drop his gun and cradle the wounded appendage. The smoke had started to creep over him, but he could still make out the object now imbedded in his hand. He recognized it immediately as one of the costumed adventurers little toys.

Before he could try and pull the wingding out of his hand, Nightwing appeared in front of him. A few blurred movements later and the last robber was unconscious.

---

"I'm looking at it right now, Oracle," Nightwing said. He was still inside the bank. Enough time had passed for most of the smoke he had unleashed to be sucked out through the building's vents. The three criminals were tied up, knocked out, and laying in a nice pile against a wall. In his hands, Nightwing had the small handheld computer that had alerted them to his presence somehow.

:Patch me into it. From what you described, I'll bet they're monitoring the building's security network through it: Oracle replied. Even though she was communicating with Nightwing from the Nest, their base of operations several miles away, her voice came in loud and clear.

After Nightwing connected the appropriate wires to Oracle's little black box, he powered up the handheld device. Windows quickly opened and closed on the screen as Oracle rooted around through the programs.

:Yep. No doubt about it. This explains how they got in undetected and how they knew where you were. They turned the motion sensors off and told the thermographs to ignore everything. Seems like they even found most of Batman's sensors the second time around, which tells us why we didn't know they were there tonight.

"I probably tipped them to that when I caught Tommy last night," sighed Nightwing, "They knew the bank's security wasn't what caught them. Anything in there about why they're committing two felonies in as many nights?"

:Not a thing. They were just hooked up to the bank; there's no data about anything else. This is actually a pretty standard piece of equipment. You can find it online easily.:

"So that scratches tracing it off the list." Nightwing paused. He turned to look at the pile of crooks before clearing his throat and saying, "Back to the basics. Interrogation 101. Nightwing out."

---

Eddie Chee, dubbed Cheeks on account of his name and appearance, wasn't a "made" man yet. He had some proving to do. He hated being treated like a brainless soldier, but what choice did he have? The Minh's had brought him over to the U.S. as a favor to his father, but he still had to show his superiors he could be trusted. Until then, it was, "Yes, sir…no, sir…"

Cheeks had plans. Big plans. He wasn't an idiot…he was fully prepared to kill as many people as he had to in order for things to go his way. He was just biding his time.

The way he was currently biding his time, however, wouldn't be able to get him what he wanted. It would instead get someone else what they wanted. One of those costumed nutcases he had heard about so much was trying to work him over. He was wrapped up in some kind of rope, dangling by his feet over 3rd Avenue.

"I don't have all night, buddy," the costumed man said, "Tell me what's going on and I'll put in a good word for you with the police."

"You can't do nothing! I've read about you guys. You think you're heroes! You rescue kittens from trees, for chrissake! Why the hell would I believe your threats about dropping me? You ain't a killer!" Cheeks smiled as best he could. His face still hurt from where he got punched earlier.

Nightwing reached out and pushed Cheeks so he swung out over the empty street. He could hear the rope holding him tighten and stretch. He squirmed a little bit, but didn't let out how scared he was. He didn't think the masked goon would drop him, but he hated heights. He was going to lose his cool soon.

"I'm running out of patience, Cheeks. I won't kill you, but I definitely don't have any problems with dropping you to break a few bones. If scum like you gets laid up in the hospital for a little while with a full body cast, I sleep better at night. Last chance…what's going down?" Nightwing again pushed him enough to cause Cheeks vision to be filled with nothing but pavement.

"What if I just tell you to piss off? Huh?" Cheeks was calling his bluff. Everyone always judged him…they all thought he was just a dumb, fat guy. He was better than that. Better than all of them, and smarter than this whacko in a mask. "What do you think about that, asshole?"

"I think you speak English very well."

"Fuc…whoa!" Cheeks forgot what he was about to say as his stomach turned over. Nightwing had pushed him out again, but this time, he started to drop really fast toward the unforgiving pavement. This was it. He was going to die. He was wrong about the masked guy. He was crazy.

As windows rushed passed him, Cheeks closed his eyes and waited for the end to come. Instead, he felt a sharp tug through the rope, and he stopped falling. The sudden change in velocity caused his stomach to flop once again, this time sending vomit spewing from his mouth. He opened his eyes and saw he was about fifteen feet above street level. Directly under him was a small brown dog with large eyes and rugged fur. Obviously a stray that had wandered over.

After pulling him back up to the top of the building, Nightwing got right up in Cheeks' face. "You're lucky I'm a dog guy. If that had been a cat, you would be wondering if you would ever be able to walk again right about now. Fido down there just bought you another chance. Start talking."

Cheeks spat a small chunk of his dinner out from under his tongue. Barfing upside down was not very pleasant. Tonight wasn't doing anything for his fear of heights, either. "Okay, okay," he gasped, "Tommy set up this sweet deal with the bank's manager so we could get in with no problems. We were just going to grab the diamonds last night, but after what happened, he said we had to go back and make up for the loss."

"What's the deal with the bank manager?" said Nightwing as he poked the hung up mobster gently with his finger. The little tap proved enough to cause Cheeks to spin slightly.

"I don't know! I just do what I'm told, I swear!"

Nightwing backed away from Cheeks, turning to leave. "Hey! Wait! I told you what you wanted! C'mon!"

Nightwing, now at the other edge of the building, responded, "Cheeks, that line isn't even long enough to reach the ground from up here. I never said I was going to let you down." Cheeks' rotation forced his vision away from the hero, and when he spun back, he was gone.

"Forget this," the criminal said, "I'm going back to medical school."

---

According to Oracle, Philip Buchis, the manager of Gotham Savings and Loan, rented a penthouse seventeen blocks from the bank. Navigating the rooftops the way he did, it only took Nightwing about nine minutes to get there.

A fairly tall apartment building, Nightwing leapt across an ally to land in front of a window on the seventh floor. He could easily make out from his position some of Minh's soldiers standing guard in front of the main entrance.

_Stick out like a sore thumb, why don't ya? Who wears sunglasses at 4 a.m.?_ thought Nightwing, _Guess there's no chance of quietly asking Mr. Buchis a few questions._

Buchis' apartment was three floors directly below him, and Nightwing doubted he would be there by himself. Gauging the drop, the former boy wonder pulled out several yards of high-composite cable.

Seconds later, the hero smashed through a window and into Buchis' fourth floor living room. Nightwing rolled to his feet and quickly scanned the room: two soldiers standing in an entryway reaching for their shoulder holsters, another choking on some food (probably from Nightwing's shocking entrance), Tommy Minh yelling something profane, and one last thing that took Nightwing off his guard.

In the center of the room was an infant, barely a year old, if that. The child was in one of those baby carriers that parents loved so much, sitting on the coffee table. Buchis was no where to be seen.

First things first. Nightwing charged the two men fumbling for their weapons. The closest managed to pull out a Magnum revolver powerful enough to blow a hole clean through anyone. Nightwing cocked his right arm, and sent one of his escrima sticks flying at the second man, who was still trying to get his piece out. Without breaking stride, Nightwing dove at the ground directly in front of the first man at the same time he heard his projectile slam into the other goon's face.

The Magnum wielding soldier squeezed off a wild shot that did nothing but shatter a vase across the room. Nightwing tucked into his dive, and rolled his feet into the perfect position. The hero pushed off the floor with his hands, causing both of his reinforced boots to crack against the soldier's jaw. In one fluid motion, he had disabled both opponents.

"You're dead, freak!" bellowed Tommy.

On his feet once again, Nightwing turned to see Tommy Minh and the remaining lackey (no longer choking) start to approach him with bloodlust in their eyes. Tommy's nose was bandaged from their last encounter and he held twin daggers upside down in his hands, both eight inches in length.

The other man was spinning a set of nunchaku around his body, slicing through the air with precision. He was obviously trained in how to use them. Nightwing ducked under the first swing of the numchucks, and had to quickly step back in order to avoid one of Tommy's daggers. They were attacking in unison, something that might be deadly to most people. Deadly, unless you were trained by one of the greatest hand-to-hand combatants on the planet.

At times like these, Nightwing simply let instinct take over. Bobbing and weaving between slashes of wood and metal, Nightwing evaded every strike from his opponents, relying on his honed skills to guide him. He wouldn't describe it as easy…but rather, familiar.

The man with the numchucks lunged at Nightwing, his frustration getting the better of him. With his leap, the man's weight shifted fully forward, giving Nightwing the advantage he needed. One swift roundhouse later and the man was out of the fight.

"You're always there!" Tommy screamed while furiously trying to slice into Nightwing, "You're always in the way! First in Bludhaven, now in Gotham! Die already!"

"It doesn't take a genius to figure you out," Nightwing said, ducking under another attack, "Sometimes, I swear, you almost want to be caught."

Tommy stabbed again where Nightwing had been a split second before. "You stupid prick! You're so high and mighty! You think I don't know? You think I don't know what you did last year? I saw the whole thing! _I saw you_!"

Nightwing's eyes expanded behind his mask. He hadn't expected that. He was obviously surprised by Tommy's words, and the Asian man saw his chance to strike. Nightwing felt a sudden seething pain in his left arm. Jumping back, he looked over to see blood trickling down his costume from where Tommy had gouged out part of his flesh. He quickly assessed that no serious damage had been done, although he would probably have a scar.

While the blood didn't mean much to Nightwing, it meant encouragement for Tommy. The criminal tried to press his slight advantage, but his new found faith in himself was misplaced. Nightwing, the trained fighter that he was, simply stepped to the side and clotheslined his opponent.

"Where's Buchis?" Nightwing demanded as he stood over Tommy. The cut in his arm was nothing serious to worry about, but it sure was irritating. He placed his boot on Tommy's neck, pressing slightly. "What's the deal you had worked out with him? Percentages?"

Tommy coughed, meaning he had an answer and that Nightwing should let off his neck a little. "That moron doesn't see a dime," he said, smiling, "He's a coward. All we had to do was take one of his kids away and he let us waltz right in. Hooked us up to the security and everything. He even deleted the records of what we were taking."

"Why go back to the bank again? After last night you had to have known I was paying attention."

Tommy chuckled. "But you couldn't prove anything. You still can't. My guys made sure there wasn't any evidence of my involvement. They won't implicate me at all. I'll tell the police I was visiting my good friend Phil when you busted in and tour up the place. I've spread enough money around this town to make sure I can't be taken down."

Just then, on the furthest reaches of his peripheral vision, Nightwing saw movement from somewhere in the apartment. He reapplied the pressure to Tommy's neck and turned to face whoever else was in the room.

"B…b…back off!" said Philip Buchis, manager of Gotham Savings and Loan. He was obviously very distressed and on the edge. He was waving one of the soldier's guns around as his voice quivered. "Get out of here! I'll shoot if I have to! You'll ruin everything and I'll never see my daughter again!"

Nightwing raised his hands open-palmed. "Mr. Buchis, I can help you. I can get your daughter back. Tommy Minh is finished and he'll tell you what you need to know."

Tommy let out another chuckle as well as he could with a foot on his throat. "He doesn't know what to do unless someone tells him! He's pathetic! Phil! Shoot this asshole or your daughter's a dead girl!"

"Mr. Buchis, just relax and put the gun down. It's over."

"Shoot him!" Tommy screamed.

Philip's mind was filled with possibilities. He didn't know what to do. He loved his daughter and he wanted her back. His sweet little girl…she wasn't even old enough to talk yet. Her twin brother was crying in his carrier on the coffee table. Earlier that night, Tommy Minh had threatened to take him, too if tonight's robbery ended the way yesterday's had.

Minh was just like all those bullies from Philip's youth. Always there, always pushing, always degrading him. He wasn't a little kid anymore. He had a family now. He had twin children. He had a gun. He had power now.

Philip stopped shaking. Nightwing could see determination enter his eyes. _I know what that means…don't do it…_he thought.

---

Barbara Grayson handed her husband a steaming hot cup of coffee. She had been in the business long enough to know that the caffeine did little to soothe the effects of the night's event, but it did wonders for a person's disposition.

"Why don't you jump in the shower?" she said, "You don't have to worry about getting the stitches in your arm wet. The steam would relax you."

Dick Grayson took a long sip from his mug. He closed his eyes, going over everything that had happened in the last 36 hours. After a deep breath, he finally acknowledged his wife's comment. "No…no. I'm okay. I just need some sleep. Do you…do you ever think about what happened eight months ago in Bludhaven?"

"Dick…you can't let this eat you alive. Especially after the good you did tonight. You taped Tommy Minh admitting how he kidnapped Philip Buchis' daughter to coerce him into helping with the bank robbery. The tiny camera in your mask got enough video of his soldiers trying to exit the vault with stolen property. You got them and they can't get out of it no matter whose influence they've bought."

Dick took in and let out another deep breath. "Buchis' daughter was in one of Minh's cars out front. He was planning on using her to get Buchis' to give him more information on other banks affiliated with Gotham Savings and Loan." Dick paused again before adding, "I'm just glad Buchis' came to his senses and put the gun down. I'm going to go crash, babe. The sun's starting to come up." He finished his beverage and started toward their bedroom.

"Dick…" she said as she wheeled closer to him, "What happened eight months…you did everything you could. You have to move passed it."

"Hard to do that when Tommy Minh told me tonight he saw what happened. I know that I can't blame myself anymore, but I still feel remorse. I felt for Buchis tonight. I felt the same way for him that I did eight months ago. When a threat is that close to home…"

"…you do exactly what you did, Dick," she interrupted.

"Yeah…good night, sweetheart." He bent down and kissed her gently on the lips. He turned back toward their bedroom again, this time making it the whole way to the mattress. He was silently asleep within moments.

---

The Dark Knight stood atop the highest point in Gotham City. He gazed down upon the city, having no fear of the immense height. This was his city now. He would do what was necessary. No longer would the criminals be allowed to roam free as informants or would government officials be allowed to keep their corrupt offices.

The man wearing Batman's cape and cowl balanced steadily at the peak of Milton Solution's tower. He would begin his crusade in this very building. The CEO of this company was involved with insider trading. Batman's "source" had provided him what he needed to know. Joshua Milton would meet his end tonight, even if Batman had to break every bone in his body.

---

Bruce Wayne sat at a stainless steel desk in a dark room. Few people in the world knew where he was. The building's location was kept secret from even high-ranking government officials. Those he employed in his company thought he was still in Gotham. The truth, though, was that Bruce Wayne hadn't stepped one foot inside Gotham for months.

He had important things to attend to. The problems he faced now almost seemed to dwarf the problems he had faced before. Almost.

**Author's Nest **

_That wraps up the first arc! Hope you enjoyed reading it as much as I did writing it. Nightwing is one of my favorite characters of all time and I really like to think I do him justice in this series._

_If you're curious about what the hell is going on with Bats and Bruce Wayne, I suggest you check out DCI's JLA for the straight poop on the situation (which launches May 10th with the rest of DC Infinity!). I'll be building on it next issue._

_What else is in store for our good buddy Nightwing? He'll be busting heads, taking names, doing a little traveling, and taking on some serious heavy hitters. Send me feedback (please!)._


	3. Nothing Ventured

**Nightwing**

**Issue #3**

"**Nothing ventured…"**

There are some things people just can't leave well enough alone. For one person it may be their baseball card collection. For another it may be their obsession with their career. For Dick Grayson, the scion of the night, it was his car.

_Can't believe I've gone this long without rebuilding it_, Dick had thought.

His wife mentioned offhandedly one day that it looked like a pissing contest between Dick and his mentor, Bruce Wayne. "If Bruce has two retrorockets, you have to have three. If Bruce revs his engine, you take out the muffler. Boys with your toys…"

It wasn't that Dick felt the need to one-up his mentor, he had moved out from under Bruce's shadow long ago. It was more like he wanted to maintain the equality between them. After the Crisis last year, Bruce had taken him and Tim Drake on a trip that was designed to help Bruce rediscover why he was Batman. The journey had taken all of them to a new level. Before, Dick and Bruce regarded each other as kindred spirits, even though Bruce was the mentor and Dick the student. Now it was more like they were professors at the same college – equal coworkers. They still had their differences, but now it felt like that could talk things out easier.

Although, he had to admit, it did put a smile on his face to know he could take a turn sharper than the Batmobile.

Bruce's sleek car was much faster than his own was, but when it came to maneuverability, Dick had the advantage. Bruce's vehicle also had a lot more gizmos than Dick's, but he made up for it with camouflage. He had always thought the Batmobile stuck out like a sore thumb and hindered their investigations. Dick's street machine had interchangeable covers such as a squad car, taxicab, and a brown, dented muscle car (his favorite). He had to completely rebuild the vehicle recently, but he enjoyed the work.

Hopping rooftops while chasing down a neighborhood looter was fun, but sometimes you just need a car. Now was one of those times.

Dressed in his Nightwing uniform, Dick pushed the accelerator all the way to the floor, causing the massive engine to lunge forward and take the rest of the car with it. The night lights of Gotham blurred slightly as he sped down the streets. He need not worry about being picked up for speeding: the car was invisible to radar thanks to a special paint coating the exterior of all the shells for the car.

"Love that purr," said Nightwing. "Maybe I ought to name you. 'Wingmobile.' No? Okay, forget that."

Nightwing sharply turned the wheel and sent the car shooting down Winick Avenue. Since his move to Gotham, he had been riling up the local gangs in an effort to flush out the big boys. He knew Oswald Cobblepot had his hands in someone's cookie jar, he just had to figure out whose. A smalltime group of thugs called the Alphas usually could be found lurking around Winick Avenue and Nightwing had decided to pay them a visit.

"Nightracer," Nightwing muttered to himself. "No. Sounds like a bad television show."

Winick Avenue was one of the few streets that cut through a large section of South Gotham. Because of the estuary, a lot of the roads turned, broke off, or melded with other roads and made convoluted loops. Winick Avenue was one of the fastest ways to get across town. The Alphas had claimed it for their own and were trying to charge a toll to use a certain section of it.

"Autowing…aww, I give up."

Nightwing's nameless vehicle slowed down as it approached where Winick was vivisected by Larsen Street. This was the intersection the Alphas usually tried to shake down motorists. No cars rolled down the paved street tonight. No one was out driving in this area this late anymore thanks to the Alphas. No one except Nightwing.

Seeing his car coming, a few people dressed in black seeped out of the shadows and into the street, right in Nightwing's path. He slowed down and came to a stop about twenty feet in front of four individuals.

"What a piece of junk," said one of the figures. The others laughed in response as they eyed up the dented muscle car.

"Let him pass, Big Dog?" another figure said to the first who spoke. "Don't look like he can afford the toll." More laughter from the peanut gallery, some of which were slowly coming out of an alley. There were maybe thirteen altogether, although Nightwing couldn't be sure. It didn't matter much. There could have been three dozen and he still would have felt completely safe behind the armor plating of his vehicle.

"No one gets a free pass from the Alphas," Big Dog said. "Everybody pays."

_If this is how they shake down drivers_, thought Nightwing as the gang started to approach, _this is going to be easier than I had envisioned._

He decided to start off simple. He might get lucky and just frighten the gang off. Nightwing didn't intend to apprehend them tonight but instead just let them know they shouldn't be doing what they were doing. They were just kids acting stupid. If he was really lucky, the Penguin would catch wind of what happened and get the message that all gangs, big and small, were being looked at carefully.

Under the car's chassis, a thin black rod lowered and extended in front of the vehicle. High pitched sonics bombarded the thugs' ear canals, causing them to double over and grip their heads. The directional sonic emitter under Nightwing's car was having no trouble playing havoc with the gangs' inner ear functions. A few of the thugs even fell to their knees and vomited onto the pavement.

_There are times when I really hate my job_, Nightwing thought. _Tonight, however, is not one of them. I better be careful, lest I become some kind of sadist._

Because it was directional, the sonic emitter only targeted the people Nightwing wanted it to. There was no chance he was waking up someone inside a nearby apartment building, or even catching a stray bystander on the sidewalk. The device could melt the earwax in a perp's ear at a hundred feet at its high setting, but right now Nightwing was content to just teach the thugs a little humility.

"Still better than Macy Gray," Nightwing said.

After a few more moments of earsplitting sonic emissions, Nightwing turned off the device and switched it over the loudspeaker function. He grabbed a CB intercom and spoke to the thugs through the sonic emitter.

"Party's over boys. Time to head home. Leave now and I'll promise not to come after you."

A few stood and hobbled down the street. Big Dog shook his head and motioned for the remaining four other thugs to come to his side.

"You're the one who's going to be leaving!" hollered Big Dog. "This is our street, our turf! We fought to get it and we're keeping it!"

_So we'll do this the hard way then_, Nightwing thought.

The sonic emitter retracted back to its place under the car. The gang slowly took a few more steps closer, now brandishing weapons they had been hiding somewhere in the folds of their baggy clothing. Nightwing just shook his head, unimpressed.

Metal baseball bats, crowbars, and even bullets all slammed into the armor paneling of the vehicle. The shatterproof glass that made up the windows withstood the assault as well. All of their efforts were futile. It would take a lot more than a Louisville Slugger to penetrate this monster's hide.

Watching them from the inside, Nightwing rolled his eyes after allowing an entire clip to be emptied from one of the gunmen. He leaned forward and flipped a switch on the dashboard that sent 5,000 volts of electricity coursing through the frame of the vehicle. It only lasted a split-second and wasn't powerful enough to do any serious harm, but the hair on the ends of the thugs hands was definitely singed.

The only ones who didn't get shocked were the two wielding handguns. They stared in awe as their comrades stumbled back from the brief electrical assault, unsure of their balance.

"Oh, hell no…" said Big Dog, his .45-calibre pistol falling to his side. "Is Batman in there?"

"I dunno man, but I don't wanna find out," replied the other gunman. No sooner had his sentence finished than he was facing the opposite direction and running at top speed, leaving Big Dog to face the mysterious driver all by himself.

_So much for loyalty_, Nightwing thought.

It was hard enough trying to maintain control over a bunch of street punks without having masked vigilantes come a'knocking. Sometimes Big Dog even had to beat the tar out of one of his own gang members just to keep the reins of leadership. His gang had fled, but if he didn't at least try to do something, there was no telling how many people he would have to fight in order to remain the Big Dog he claimed to be.

"Man, why you got to hide behind your car, man?" Big Dog yelled. "Afraid to take on the leader of the Alphas, huh? Little man, hiding in his car. Come on out!"

Nightwing slid back the enlarged sunroof and slowly stood up in his seat. The white eyes of his mask stared down the gang leader. In the moonlight, shadows slipped over Nightwing's form, making him appear more like a dark wraith than a man. The only thing Big Dog could see clearly was the cold, unforgiving whiteness of Nightwing's eyes. Criminals a lot tougher than Big Dog had been broken by his stare.

"Wha-what you gonna do, huh? Come on, I'm standing he-I'm standing here…"

Nightwing's gaze remained targeted at the thug.

"You want to roll? Yeah? Come on then! B-bring it!"

Nightwing tensed his muscles, ready to spring just in case the thug tried to squeeze off a shot. He waited, holding his stare.

Big Dog mumbled a few more words that Nightwing couldn't make out. After a few more hearbeats, Big Dog dropped his gun and ran in the direction his fellow street punks had gone. Looking down at the dropped weapon, Nightwing could have sworn he saw stray light shimmer against a small puddle right where Big Dog had been standing.

_Good way to start a night_, Nightwing thought as he bounded out of his automobile to pick up the dropped handgun.

He tossed the firing pin and bullets into a nearby storm drain and the handgun on the passenger seat of his vehicle (he would drop it off at the local police precinct later). He slid the enlarged sunroof back into place and shifted out of park. The engine roared as Nightwing went careening back on down Winick Avenue.

He hadn't gotten far before the communicator in his ear chirped to life.

>Hey, wonder-boy.>

"What's up, Oracle?"

>Having a good night, lover?> said the strong, feminine voice of Nightwing's wife/information broker Barbara Grayson, also known as Oracle.

"I think I just made the leader of the Alphas pee himself, so yeah, it's a good night."

>Always nice to know,> Oracle replied with a little chuckle. >Look, I've got our batty friend on the line with an urgent message. I'll patch him through.>

After a brief cackle of static, another deeper, distinctly male voice spoke into Nightwing's ear. The voice was one he knew all too well. It was that of his mentor and compatriot, Bruce Wayne.

>Nightwing, we have a problem.>

_Oh boy_, thought Nightwing. _I know what that means_.

Over the last two months, someone had been frequenting the Gotham rooftops just as much as Nightwing. It started with smalltime thugs and more recently turned into corrupt officials, all of whom had received severe beatings. All attempts to track him had led to dead ends.

The whole situation bothered Nightwing but he knew it bothered Bruce even more. Nightwing may be staying in Gotham, but the city was Bruce's home. If Bruce said they had a problem, it had to be serious.

"The mysterious Gotham vigilante has struck again, hasn't he?"

>Two nights ago, Joshua Milton, CEO of Milton Solution, was found in the alley behind his company's building,> Bruce said. >He had three fractured ribs, a broken arm, two puncture wounds, and a collapsed lung. He was dead on arrival at the hospital.>

"Nasty. Our guy did all that? Why?"

>Milton was suspected of insider trading. Hours after Milton died, a file with all the evidence necessary for a conviction was delivered by courier to the police.>

"He's gone over the edge," Nightwing said. "When are you coming back to Gotham?"

>I can't. I'm…busy with some operations here. I need you to handle this.>

"WHAT?" Nightwing pulled his vehicle over and shifted it into park. Emotions and thoughts were swirling around inside of his head and he didn't want to be distracted.

>I understand what you're feeling, but it needs to be done. Take him down as soon as possible. This has gone on long enough. A man is now dead and that is unacceptable.>

A tiny click signaled that the communiqué had been ended.

"Unbelievable!" Nightwing yelled. He threw the car back into gear and floored the gas pedal. The vehicle roared down the street, tires squealing.

"After everything we went through to get to where we are, and he does this! 'No longer uptight' my ass…"

>Nightwing?>

The sudden sound of Oracle in his ear caught Nightwing off guard, causing him to miss a gearshift. He recovered quickly by downshifting to the appropriate speed and continued along his route.

"Hey, sorry. Didn't realize you were still on the line."

>You may not believe this, but after listening in to your conversation, I think I may have figured out our guy's route.>

"How did you manage that?"

>Well, we've recorded everywhere he's struck and figured out the kinds of people he's targeting. Milton Solution is along the river, not far from the center of the city. What we haven't done until now is check the times of the occurrences alongside the locations. It looks like the mysterious vigilante starts on the outside of the city and works his way in.>

"Wait," Nightwing said. "Joshua Milton's company was inside the tallest building in Gotham, right? I remember reading about it. The main offices were in one place, but they owned other buildings to store merchandise in. Overlay all the businesses of the people our guy's attacked with a map of the city and then see if all of them have been hit."

A brief pause and a few keystrokes later and Oracle was able to verify Nightwing's theory. >Everyone that had the crap beaten out of them had their businesses ransacked as well. Milton's company had their offices torn apart, but they also own a warehouse at the corner of Baker and Michael. Given the time it is right now and the pattern he displays, our vigilante is probably close to it right now.>

"Thanks," Nightwing sighed. "On my way."

>You okay, lover?>

Nightwing mulled the question over before answering. "I guess. What gets me is that this is supposed to be his city, you know? This is his legacy and his town we're dealing with here. I'll help and do whatever I can, he knows that. But for a guy whose entire life has been about taking responsibility, he seems like he's really going against the grain these days."

>You know how passionate he is. He's doing what he thinks is best for his crusade. You know he wouldn't entrust you with something like Gotham if he didn't think you could handle it.>

"Oh, I don't doubt that he trusts me. I just can't believe he doesn't want to take this guy out himself. This is his city. This is something he should be doing."

>He probably does want to,> Oracle responded. >But being knee-deep in all things Checkmate really takes a toll on a person's free time. You know how Checkmate operates: the job comes first. Being Batman just isn't part of Bruce's job anymore.>

"It would be nice if I could contact him instead of just waiting for him to call. He never leaves their compound that I'm aware of."

>Yeah, I know it must be frustrating.> There was a small level of apprehension in Oracle's voice, as if she was holding back something from her husband. Nightwing was too distracted at the moment to pick up on it though.

"Our marriage would be on the rocks if you never left the Nest, that's for sure," Nightwing joked.

>What's your ETA for the warehouse?> Oracle asked.

"Six minutes. Nightwing out."

---

Batman crouched down over the warehouse's biggest skylight. Not many warehouses had skylights anymore. Too many had been broken into and the owners figured that the skylights were an easy way to get into their buildings. The Dark Knight could have gotten in any number of ways, but why not take the easy road? No alarms would be set off anyway.

The building in question, which sat at the corner of Baker Street and Michael Lane, was suspected of housing illegal firearms. The weapons were being smuggled into the city, stored at this warehouse, and then moved to the next stop in the tour. Sort of an Underground Railroad for weapons trafficking.

Batman removed an entire windowpane from its housing and gently set it on the roof. Attaching a high-composite cable to the skylight, he slipped into the building, dangling from the line in the dark. Silently he dropped to the floor and made his way to a stack of crates to inspect their contents.

Pulling out his electrically charged baton, Batman smashed open one of the crates, causing the illegal weapons to clatter onto the concrete floor.

"Pay dirt," he said, smiling. The owner had a lot to answer for now.

_Mr. Milton was illegally moving something other than stocks it would seem_, Batman thought.

A light flicked on in the office across the warehouse. Two figures moved down the steps from the room and drew their issued handguns, pointing them at the Dark Knight.

"Freeze!" the first one hollered.

"Yeah, hold it!" chimed in the other one. He took out his long flashlight and shined it on the broken crate and then at Batman.

"Holy crap!" the second man said. "Gary…that's the Batman! What the hell is going on here?"

"Uh...well…what do we do now?"

"You say cheese while I crack your skulls open," said the man dressed as Batman. In one fluid motion he was on top of the first security guard, baton pulled back to land a crippling blow.

Red flashed before Batman's eyes as pain suddenly coursed through his right hand. He dropped his baton but refused to cradle the hurt hand like it was an infant. He had felt worse pain, even in his childhood. The security guard squirmed out from under him and took off for the nearest exit. The guard's partner, who had always been told by his wife to not be a hero, followed him.

"What the hell--" Batman said. He heard something roll across the concrete at his feet and bent over slightly to make out what it was. Glistening in the soft, ambient light from the streetlights was a white escrima fighting stick, rolling back in the direction from which it had been thrown.

Batman lifted his gaze to meet that of another. The opposing figure bent down to pick up the escrima, its twin in his other hand.

"Enough is enough," Nightwing said. "Your tenure in Gotham City is finished. I don't know who you are or why you feel the need to dress up like someone you're not, but I know one thing for sure: you are not Batman."

"You found me. I'm impressed. I don't impress easily."

"Who are you?" Nightwing asked. The way this man carried himself looked familiar, as did the energy baton he had knocked loose from the imposter's hand.

"Who am I? Who am I?" the man repeated. He seemed to be asking himself the question as much as he was directing the sentences at Nightwing. "We both know I'm not Batman but that's not the only thing we have in common. I would bet that neither of us knows who's under this mask at all. I've stared at myself in the mirror for quite a long time and I can only come up with one thing: I wasn't always so nice to people. There's a dark side of me begging to get out, and you know what? I kind of like it."

"You have amnesia?"

"Perhaps," he replied. "More like a mindwipe. Your friends that so arrogantly look down upon us from their orbiting clubhouse aren't too friendly at times."

Nightwing could feel the pit of his stomach hit the floor. "Take off your mask. Now."

"As you wish," the man sighed.

The Dark Knight's cowl slid off easily enough, but it looked heavier…bulkier than the real Batman's. Once the man's face was unobstructed and the light bounced into the warehouse just right, Nightwing could make out his features. He recognized the face from Bruce's files and now some things made sense, like the weapon he had knocked out of his opponent's hand. Standing before him was one of the few people on Earth who could honestly say he had beat Bruce Wayne in hand-to-hand combat. Nightwing finally forced the name of the man before him through his lips.

"Prometheus."

"Prometheus?" he said, again donning the Batman mask. "Sounds familiar. Maybe I'll go ask around about it after I pummel you."

"You're welcome to try."

"Alright, pigeon," the pretender said as he picked up his baton from the floor. "I took down the whole JLA once, you know? I remember doing that…sort of. Sure you're up to the task?"

"I'm more than a match for you."

_Let's hope I'm right_, Nightwing thought.

---

**Writer's Nest**

_Confused? Don't worry, I'm sure you aren't alone. Why is Prometheus dressed up like Batman? I'll dive into the full story next issue, but to figure it out for yourself, check out DCI's JLA and Checkmate series. We've worked very hard here at DC Infinity to make all of our series 'mesh' story-wise. Trust me, everything is in order!_

_So can you guess what's coming up in the next issue? A big crazy fight you say? Lots of martial arts and back flips? You better believe it! How could I not dedicate a whole issue to this big fight? See you next issue for the conclusion to this story arc, which will help to catapult the new DCI Batman title!_

_The website you're reading this story on doesn't like certain symbols, which may cause the parts where Oracle and Bruce talk over the intercom to look a little weird. I tried using brackets, but the site just removes them. Hence, all the 'greater than' signs. I know it looks weird, but I don't know what else to do. Hope it reads okay._

-D. Golightly

5/18/06


	4. Nothing Gained

**Nightwing**

**Issue #4**

"…**nothing gained."**

Flashes of light bounced along the interior walls of the warehouse. Blue electrical discharges splashed onto the concrete floor, the sparks quickly dissipating into the dark. A figure dressed as Batman swiftly moved across the room, years of training and reflexes showing in his precise movements.

"Back out now, pigeon, and I promise not to break all of your bones," the figure said as he aimed a deadly kick at Nightwing's head.

Nightwing was just as fast as his attacker. He raised his arm up to the left side of his body to block the kick. Dick Grayson had been fighting like this for most of his life and he usually felt comfortable during these bouts…only this wasn't a regular brawl. This time, he had possibly gotten in way over his head.

"Nothing to say?" the attacker asked. "I thought all you costumed rodents made cute remarks during a fight. Helps to rattle your opponent's nerves or something, right? What's wrong? Maybe you're a bit rattled yourself?"

Nightwing ducked under another kick and rolled forward across the cold concrete floor of the warehouse. He bounced up into a defensive stance just in time to block a spinning back-fist that was quickly followed up by a chop to his gut, which he was unable to block. All the air built up into his lungs shot out in one quick burst.

The former boy-wonder knew better than to lose his focus. He had been hit far worse and if he didn't act quickly would probably be hit again. He was down on one knee, kneeling right in front of the false Batman. He tightened his grip on his escrima fighting stick and jammed the end of it into his attacker's kneecap. He heard a satisfying 'pop' along with a sharp curse from his opponent.

The man limped back a few steps and Nightwing stood up, filling his lungs once again with oxygen.

"Not rattled, Prometheus," Nightwing said. "Just surprised. I've been tracking your movements for the last two months and I didn't expect to find out it was you who's been sending people to the hospital for minor crimes."

Both men started to circle each other in their fighting stances. Their eyes met through their masks, trying to pierce the layers of each other's psyches.

"Ha!" he scoffed in reply. "Minor crimes indeed. Even if my mind wasn't all messed up by your Justice League buddies I would still be able to see how sickening your city is. You and your kind use the terms 'justice' and 'crime' much too casually. Every person I punished deserved what they received from my hands."

"Even Joshua Milton? You sent him to the emergency room where he died. Did he deserve death at the hands of a vigilante?"

"Oh, please," Prometheus said. "Like you have any room to talk. Ask me if I even care that he's dead? Your guilt trip is wasted on me. You jog across the same rooftops that I do. You encounter the same scum. You wish you had the freedom to do what I have done. I can't remember large chunks of my life but I do know one thing: I'm justified in what I'm doing just as much as you are."

"We're nothing alike."

"Whatever."

The pretender moved his left arm in a swift, upward motion and Nightwing knew he had thrown something. Nightwing dove at the ground just in time to dodge several deadly blades cutting through the air where he had been standing. Hearing his opponent exert some kind of physical effort, he looked straight up to see Prometheus falling through the air, both his feet aimed directly at his head. Nightwing rolled back onto his shoulders and kicked both his legs straight up into the air, catching Prometheus in the chest as gravity pulled him right down.

Prometheus quickly recovered from the surprise counter-attack as Nightwing nip-upped back into a more vertical position. Halfway through the maneuver, however, Prometheus reached out and grabbed Nightwing's left ankle, upsetting the young man's balance.

"Images keep swirling through my head," Prometheus said. "I seem to recall this exact situation with the real Batman right before I bashed his head off of the wall."

"I'm not Batman."

Nightwing contorted his body into a painful bend that allowed his free leg to kick Prometheus in his solar plexus. Prometheus stepped back, wincing in pain and releasing Nightwing, who hit the floor but quickly leapt up onto his feet again.

The pretender charged forward and sprung into the air again, this time spinning around and sending his foot out to hammer into Nightwing's shoulder. Nightwing saw the obvious attack and sidestepped it easily…but then pain suddenly exploded in his chest from Prometheus' fist. He pushed off the ground and flipped up onto a nearby crate, rubbing his chest to ease the pain.

"Got to love misdirection," Prometheus sneered.

Nightwing's chest was throbbing with pain. If he had the time right now, he was sure he would be able to remove his Kevlar top and watch his chest turn black and blue.

_Another spot for Babs to rub ointment on_, Nightwing thought.

He couldn't let Prometheus keep up his assault; he had to get the upper hand in this fight. Prometheus had once taken down the entire JLA by himself, and the longer Nightwing allowed this fight to continue, the less his chances were for survival.

Nightwing jerked his wrists a specific way so his gauntlets would release several pellets into each of his hands. Bounding up higher on the stack of crates, Nightwing tossed a half dozen pellets onto the ground directly in front of Prometheus as he climbed, where they exploded and dispersed tear gas into the air. The pellets were small but they packed enough of a punch to flood a one hundred square foot room. The cloud quickly enveloped Prometheus, who brought his cape up to cover his face.

"Fighting -cough- dirty, eh?" Prometheus said from within the cloud.

Instead of responding, Nightwing leapt off the top crate and grabbed a wench that was hanging from the top of the warehouse. Swinging down through the air, Nightwing released the wench at the apex of his swing. He held his breath as he entered the cloud feet first.

He expected to connect with Prometheus but didn't succeed in hitting anything but the dense cloud, which was clearing up quickly. Then, seemingly from nowhere, a gloved fist exploded from the mist and broke one of his ribs. Nightwing was forced to breathe in the foul gas, immediately causing his eyes to water.

Another punch to the side of his face sent him to the ground and a hard kick to his ribs pushed him out to the center of the warehouse, thankfully away from the tear gas.

Nightwing had undergone special training to allow him a limited resistance to tear gas, but he had been unprepared and surprised. His eyes watered, his throat burned, and he coughed as if he had bronchitis, but it was less than a normal person. After just a brief moment, he was fine albeit unnerved. One rib was definitely broken; possibly two.

"You could have walked away and avoided this," said Prometheus, his voice slightly muffled.

Nightwing stood and looked at the gas cloud which was dispersing quickly. From within it, Prometheus casually walked out, a filtration unit fixed over his mouth.

"I've got the tools and I've got the talent!" Prometheus said as he struck a comical heroic pose. "I look like Batman, I act like Batman, I fight like Batman, I even have gadgets like Batman. Take the analytical collector in my lenses, for instance." Prometheus motioned to his forehead, brushing his fingers against the dark material. "I've been monitoring your body language and vitals while you were enlightening me earlier. I know you've been telling the truth, or at least you think you have been. And when you said you weren't the Bat, your heart skipped a beat. What's up with that? The real one has been gone for a year and who is here to take his place? You? For all intents and purposes, I am the Dark Knight."

Prometheus spun his electrified baton around in the air, which he must have picked up again while Nightwing was running atop the crates.

"I would say you could be my sidekick or something and we could spend our nights stopping muggers, but who wants to share the glory? Say good night, pigeon."

Prometheus lunged at Nightwing, his baton swinging with deadly accuracy. At the last second, Nightwing brought up both his escrima sticks to block the attack, catching the baton and holding it inches from both their faces.

"The myth of the real Prometheus was that he stole fire from the gods," Nightwing muttered, his strength ebbing fast in the struggle and sweat beading on his forehead. "If you play with fire, you're going to get burned."

Shifting his momentum, Nightwing suddenly eased up his resistance against Prometheus and pivoted to his side, trapping the baton in between his escrima sticks. Before Prometheus could react, Nightwing swung the electrical baton around and shoved the end of it against Prometheus' bulky cowl, causing sparks to erupt.

The smell of burnt circuitry filled Nightwing's nostrils as Prometheus screamed and clawed at his mask. Nightwing stepped back but couldn't avoid the wild arms of the flailing villain, who knocked him up against the stack of crates he had climbed up earlier.

"What did you – system reboot? – how can…AHH!" the pretender yelled as he gripped his face.

Prometheus reached behind his cape and then randomly threw out several small, black objects. Nightwing vaulted behind the stack of crates and narrowly avoided the resulting explosions. They weren't large or devastating, but it allowed Prometheus the time he needed to stumble out of the warehouse. When Nightwing arose from behind his makeshift barricade, he saw the door Prometheus had exited through slam shut.

Nightwing sighed and mentally swore. The bad guy was getting away. At least he wouldn't be able to get very fair if he moved quickly enough.

"Oracle?" Nightwing said through gritted teeth. "You there?"

: Yeah, you okay? Your vitals are coming in a little odd: the concerned voice of his wife Barbara Grayson said in his earpiece.

"I'll live," he said. "Our mysterious vigilante just took off, his head buzzing with misinformation. We had a few words and I've got a couple broken rubs. Turns out our guy was leaping rooftops dressed as Batman."

: Nothing new there. :

"Well, this time it was Prometheus."

: What? That's not funny, birdboy. :

"I wish it was a joke," replied Nightwing. He jogged over to another exit and left the warehouse. "Looks like he's using similar gear like when he took over the Watchtower. Remember that helmet of his that could upload information directly into his brain? I think he's using something similar that has messed with his head."

: Two more seconds and I'll have the schematic for it right in front of me. :

"Good," said Nightwing as he climbed into his disguised automobile. "I need you to upload something to the car while I chase after Prometheus."

: The car? I thought you were going to name it something cute. :

"Birdmobile just didn't seem justifiable," Nightwing said as the car's engine roared to life.

---

It had happened again. His mind was racing with various details of different lives and somewhere among them was his own. He just couldn't figure out which one.

Prometheus stumbled across the rooftop, falling several times before reaching the end. His head was pounding. A plethora of jumbled information had been forced inside his brain and none of it was making sense.

Was he Batman? Was he Prometheus? Was he one of the many others swimming inside his brain? He had images and memories in his head, but they were still fuzzy and they melded together.

"Dammit," he muttered. "Need to focus…need to--"

"You need to relax and pay attention."

Prometheus whipped around, throwing himself off balance and knocking over a lawn chair someone had set on the roof to enjoy the view. The voice had come from the ignorant runt that had caused this mess. Nightwing stood in the moonlight, sure of himself, steady and not swaying like Prometheus was. From his perspective, Nightwing looked like an arrogant bastard intent on slapping down a small child.

"Relax, Madchen?" said Prometheus, this time in a thick German accent. "Warum die Holle ich das machen wurde?"

Prometheus slapped the air in front of him, sending out two small razors at Nightwing. The attack was slow and awkward and Nightwing didn't even have to shift his feet to dodge. The razors fell at his feet, glistening in the moonlight.

_I could rush him and bowl over him while he's like this_, thought Nightwing, _but he could just as easily do something erratic. Best to stick to the plan._

"From the looks of things, you're confused and disoriented. You aren't sure what's what and you need my help."

"I don't need anything from you," Prometheus shot back, his voice now sounding more Australian. "You're weaker than--" His sentence was cut short when he gripped his head in another convulsion and slammed into a ventilation shaft. The agony of several personalities trying to force themselves onto him was taking its toll.

"Your mind is fractured and soon it will cave in on itself. That helmet you're wearing seems to be stuck in some kind of feedback loop. I'm your last chance."

"This your kind of justice, mate? I don't need you."

Nightwing ignored his comments and raised his right hand so Prometheus could make out what he was holding. The surrounding light bounced off the object to reveal a silver minidisk.

"Before you took back your original helmet from the Watchtower, Batman extracted the information from inside of it. This disk is a copy of your own personality. It is the only thing that can save you right now."

"Yeah, right," Prometheus warbled in what sounded like an Indonesian accent. "Why should I believe you? Last time I took back my tainted equipment I ended up paralyzed from the neck down."

"Use the analytical collector and you'll see I'm telling the truth. If you don't take this disc from me you'll go insane. Just turn yourself in and you'll get the help you need."

The Dark Knight impersonator leaned against the ventilation shaft to hold him steady. His mouth pulled back at the corners, like he was deep in thought. Prometheus concentrated on the information scrolling over the inside of his lenses and came to one conclusion: Nightwing was telling the truth. His heart rate and body temperature were all normal. Even his posture and body language said he wasn't lying. Damn it all to hell, but he didn't seem to have a choice.

"Fine," Prometheus said, his voice quiet and vaguely resembling what it was normally. "Give it to me."

Nightwing slowly stepped forward. The moonlight reflected off of the minidisk in his hand. After just a few steps, Nightwing was close enough for Prometheus to lunge forward, roaring with primal instinct. He caught Nightwing's right wrist and shoved his left knee into the younger man's stomach. Nightwing doubled over in extreme pain, his already broken ribs shifting around inside his body. Ripping the disk from Nightwing's hands, Prometheus simply pushed his opponent over and focused his desperation on the salvation now in his own hands.

"You heroes will never get it," Prometheus said as he slipped back his cowl, swaying slightly. "Verbal contracts aren't admissible in court and don't hold any water when you're desperate. Moron."

Nightwing rubbed his ribcage to try and alleviate the pain but he feared there was internal bleeding. He had allowed Prometheus to take the disc from him but his torso was still in an almost unbearable amount of pain.

"Cheers," Prometheus said as he slipped the disc into a compartment on the cowl and then donned it once again. He felt the information pour into his brain and all of the old personalities fighting for dominance simply dissipate. The images and memories in his head all snapped to crystal clarity and for the first time in months his mind didn't feel fuzzy. He was himself again.

"You're finished now, pigeon."

Nightwing stood up, hoping his gamble had paid off. Prometheus closed the small gap between them and threw out a clumsy fist that was sort of aimed at Nightwing's face. He slapped it aside easily and tossed his own closed fist into Prometheus' chin. The impersonator stumbled back in complete and utter shock.

"What the hell?"

"With all the skills you had uploaded into your brain," Nightwing explained as he connected with Prometheus' face again, this time with a roundhouse, "you were one of the deadliest people on the planet. Now, you're just you. No stolen skills and knowledge. No pirated personalities. No impersonations. All of your muscle memory is gone. It's. Just. You."

The gloved fist of Nightwing became speckled with blood when he gave Prometheus another uppercut. The villain spit out a mouthful of blood, still confused and shocked.

"But…I…I knew you weren't lying! You told me the truth before!"

"I was telling the truth. The minidisk was a copy of your personality but I had all the skills and talents you acquired over the years removed. Now you're nothing more than a typical, thirty year-old, white male. Just another part of the average population."

Prometheus tried to block Nightwing's attacks, but now he was no match for someone who had been tackling bad guys since he was a child. His defense was clumsy and  
Nightwing pierced it easily. Another belt to the head and Prometheus hit the rooftop, unconscious and defeated.

Nightwing breathed heavily, staring down at his fallen opponent. His ribs were killing him and his ankle felt like it might be sprained, too. He bent down, regardless of how much it hurt, and ripped off the cowl from Prometheus' head.

The victory was his, but it almost seemed like a hollow one. He had won but at what moral cost? He had resorted to messing with a person's mind, something that a little over a year ago had caused serious damage in the superhero community. He knew that this time it was different, but when would it ever not be?

_It's almost over. I just beat a guy who took down the whole Justice League of America. A guy who even took down Bruce. Bruce..._, thought Nightwing, staring hard at the empty mask in his hands._ Bruce should have been the one to take Prometheus down. This is his city. After all we've been thrown I still can't believe he allowed something like this to happen. It's time Gotham City had the Batman back again._

After making sure Prometheus was secured to the fire escape, Nightwing radioed the authorities and even alerted Arkham Asylum about the soon-to-be-arriving inmate. That was something he usually asked Babs to do but this time he felt like it was his obligation to handle it personally. He then gathered all of Prometheus' weapons and gadgets togther and switched off his communications gear, heading for his car. Taking the cape and cowl with him, he had a very specific location he needed to get to quickly. He would have to update Barbara later…right now he needed to do this by himself.

---

"Prometheus?" swore Bruce Wayne.

"That's what Dick told me," said the floating image of Oracle, also known as Barbara Grayson. The hologram of her green, iconic head swiveled around to face Bruce. "I uploaded the copy of Prometheus' personality you had made a of couple years ago to Dick's vehicle, minus the finer points of his abilities. Haven't heard from him since. It's been a few hours now and I'm getting worried."

Bruce sat behind his desk in the small office located below the Earth's surface. The Checkmate stronghold was only known to a few dozen people on the planet, and most of them were already inside the base. The room Bruce was currently in was lined with stainless steel walls and a layer of titanium armor. It would take a lot to force your way in on Bruce Wayne.

"Prometheus is a deadly enemy," Bruce said. "Dick can handle himself, but…what about his locator? No response at all from his comm unit?"

"None. His GPS is turned off. Well, I mean, I think it's turned off. He could have dropped it or--"

"Don't get yourself worked up, Oracle. Nightwing is one of the most capable people I know. He'll be alright. I'm sure…wait a second."

Several lights illuminated on the console built into Bruce's desk, taking his attention away from the floating hologram. Two red lights blinked rapidly, signaling a security breach. Pressing several keys on the pad, Bruce quickly called up a schematic of the complex and zoomed in on the areas detecting some kind of disturbance.

"Guard stations seven and eighteen, report in!" Bruce called into the small intercom connected to the console.

Silence blared back at him.

"I'm calling up my own systems diagnostic scan now," said Oracle. "I'm showing three camera feeds down, but only two alarms were tripped. Seismic and thermal. Looks like a single person got in and was able to avoid the rest of the alert systems. Switching to visual interface."

"Anything?" Bruce asked.

"Rerouting camera feeds…the guards at stations seven and eighteen are fine, just knocked out. No signs of any real struggle. Someone just blew through them."

"Wait, I'm getting a visual on the south corridor…Babs…sign off."

"What? But--"

"Sign off now!"

The door to Bruce's office slid open, light spilling into the dimly lit room. Nightwing stood in the doorway, his security pass card that Bruce had given him still in his hand. He stepped into the room and made eye contact with Bruce, emotions all blending together. A split second later, Nightwing shifted his vision to see the floating holographic image of Oracle, and his emotions became separated from what they had previously been.

"Barbara? What on Earth…Bruce! What the hell is going on?"

"I could ask you the same thing, Dick."

"Dick," Oracle said. "Dick, this isn't how we wanted you to find out--"

"Find out what, exactly?" Nightwing shot back. "That you knew exactly where Bruce was this whole time? That you could contact him whenever you wanted? I'll ask it again: what the hell is going on?"

Bruce pressed a key on his console's pad and the door slid shut behind Nightwing. "I know you and I haven't seen eye to eye concerning my role here at Checkmate, Dick. But you have to understand, this was the next logical extension of our work. I've taken what we were doing in Gotham and with the JLA and taken it global. After Maxwell Lord, Checkmate was in pieces and needed to be picked up. I couldn't let someone else come in and take those pieces for themselves. What if the Society had gained control of the vast recourses that Checkmate possesses?"

"We've had this conversation before. Several times. Get to the part where you tell me something I don't know."

"I've taken over as the Black King for Checkmate. Within the last few months alone, we've made tremendous progress in locating specific cells across the map. Most of the tracking has been thanks to our computer specialist. Our White Queen, Oracle."

As the last few words rolled off of Bruce's tongue, Nightwing looked longingly into the holographic image of his wife's alter-ego. He wasn't quite sure how he felt...

"Dick, I'm sorry," she said. "This isn't how it was supposed to work out. I know you don't agree with the way Bruce is handling things, but I do. You really wouldn't believe the progress we've made--"

"You're damn right I don't agree," Nightwing cut in. "And here's one of the main reasons." He opened up the small rucksack hanging from his shoulders and whipped out the cape and cowl he had taken from Prometheus. "Because you were here taking your war on crime global, you ignored what was happening in Gotham. Prometheus was pretending to be you and he killed a man."

Nightwing tossed the dark garment onto Bruce's desk and the normally straight face of the Black King was now anything but. Bruce knew that on a certain level, Nightwing was right. The true Dark Knight wasn't ashamed of the decisions he had made and didn't regret a single action during his time with Checkmate, but at the same time he knew Nightwing's argument held water.

"I told you something like this would happen," Nightwing said. "Even though you had me looking after Gotham, it was only a matter of time before things got out of hand."

"It couldn't have--"

"It happened, Bruce. We may see each other as equals now, but I'm still not you. I'm not Batman, and Gotham City needs Batman. I could have just used this security pass you gave me to walk in without damaging anything, but that wouldn't have driven my point home, would it?" Nightwing folded his arms over his chest, the pain from his ribs still nagging his pain receptors.

"Operations are moving forward as we speak," said Oracle. "We're bringing in countless terrorists, some of which are affiliated with the Society. You can't expect things to just shut down--"

"He's right," Bruce interrupted. "Dick is right, Barbara. I've let my ambition get the best of me. But at the same time, you're right, too. Checkmate has things going on that are too vital to just walk away from."

The three individuals let silence control the room. Bruce typed various commands into his console to turn off the security alerts while Oracle's floating image stared at Nightwing, who was staring at the floor. Each of them had reason to be angry but none of them could muster the words to get through the emotional baggage.

"When I was a small boy, after what…happened…to my parents," Bruce said, finally breaking the deafening silence, "I vowed I would do whatever I had to in order for events like those to never transpire again. I have to think about this, Dick. You're right when you say that Gotham needs Batman."

"I can do what is needed, too," Nightwing replied. "But it's a big city."

Bruce clutched the cape and cowl tight in his strong grip. He closed his eyes and tried to sift through all the thoughts swirling in his head. When he opened his eyes again, Nightwing was gone and Oracle's image had faded away.

Bruce Wayne sat down and began to contemplate his future. No matter what path he chose, dark days would undoubtedly be ahead for him. The family he had gathered around him over the years was definitely changing.

---

**Writer's Nest**

_At DC Infinity, Nightwing has ties to JLA, Checkmate, and our upcoming Batman and Batgirl series. It hasn't been easy coordinating with everyone to make sure we're on the same page, but I think we've done a fairly decent job. This issue obviously wraps up this arc but the story will continue soon in the affiliated titles. So, what's in store for Nightwing in the next few issues? Well, he'll have to deal with his feelings of mistrust concerning Oracle, the Penguin might swing by for laughs, and I'll be setting up a new system for the way Nightwing handles crime in Gotham City. As always, feedback is welcomed! See you next month!_

-D. Golightly

7/5/06


	5. Partners In Crime

**Nightwing**

Issue #5

"Partners in crime."

"No, I'm sorry, Mr. Ivory," Dick Grayson said through the crack of his open door. "I don't have a cup of sugar to lend you. In fact, I should be asking you for sugar."

"That's okay, son," replied Mr. Ivory. The elderly man had to be close to seventy years of age, but this was Dick's first encounter with the man so he couldn't be sure. "Strange though…ya rented this place a couple months ago but this is the first time I done seen ya. Never even seen ya move things in."

"I work late so I must have moved some things in while you were sleeping."

"Uh huh," Mr. Ivory said, craning his neck to see over Dick and into the apartment.

"I think my water is boiling so I'll see you around, Mr. Ivory. Nice to meet you."

"Uh huh," the elderly man replied, his eyes still trying to push into the apartment even as Dick closed the door.

_Sheesh_, Dick thought, _even my neighbors when I still had an apartment in Bludhaven weren't that nosy._

Dick strolled back across the apartment to the kitchen, which really was completely empty. The only objects in the domicile were a refrigerator, an electric stove, and a small cot he had been sleeping on for the last two nights.

He still hadn't patched things up with his wife, Barbara. When he had broken in to Checkmate to deliver Bruce Wayne a personal message, he hadn't counted on also finding out that Babs was secretly the White Queen of the cloak-and-dagger operation. He felt like she had betrayed his trust. She fully knew how he had disagreed with Bruce concerning Checkmate. It was like she didn't care.

In all honesty, it bothered Dick a lot more that Barbara felt like she needed to lie to him. He loved her and he would have understood, regardless of his disagreements with Bruce. Why would she keep secrets from him? What happened to the sanctity of marriage?

"What happened to surviving as a bachelor?" he said aloud to no one. His water had boiled over the pot and now there wasn't enough to cook the spaghetti he was hoping to have for dinner.

Like his nosy neighbor had realized, Dick and Barbara hadn't gotten around to stocking up the apartment with very much. Their real place was the Nest, located atop the Grissom Bridge. It was their base of operations as well as their personal home. The apartment he was in now was something the two of them had set up with the city for tax purposes. It might look strange if Dick and Barbara Grayson lived in Gotham City but had no place of actual, legal residence.

From the window in the kitchen, Dick could see the top of the Grissom Bridge. It wasn't very far. A person could hop a cab and make it there in just less than five minutes. Babs was there, probably wondering when she would hear from her husband.

Dick sighed. He wanted to call her but he didn't know what to say. He really felt she didn't trust him, but he supposed that she felt the same way about what he was doing to her right now. When he left the Checkmate base the night before last, he had just come straight here and fallen asleep. Last night he didn't even bother to hop any rooftops.

"My problems seem to be piling up," Dick said as he caught a glimpse of the morning's newspaper.

The top article was about Prometheus' recent impersonation of Batman and his capture by a mysterious vigilante. The 'mysterious vigilante' was Dick, of course, in his Nightwing persona. It had been one of the roughest battles of his life, but he had come out on top. The article speculated that since the real Batman hadn't been seen in Gotham for over a year, in addition to the lack of Batman's calling cards, that Prometheus had been captured by some new masked person trying to make a name for themselves.

The article had various quotes from the higher-ups in the GCPD condemning this 'mysterious vigilante.' Things in the law enforcement political structure had changed in the last year and the atmosphere wasn't as friendly to unidentified masked individuals as it once had been. Dick doubted he would be able to just swing in to the Commissioner's office and talk things over.

No, it wouldn't be that easy at all. During his tenure with the Titans, Dick had found a certain amount of comfort in the public spotlight. He didn't want to bask in it but he wasn't afraid of it either. It was one of the things that had separated him from his mentor. However, this current situation posed a problem. He would have to handle things differently.

Flipping through the rest of the paper, Dick stumbled across a small advertisement that may have given him just the answer he was looking for.

----------

"I don't care how much money you throw at me," an assertive female voice said into a telephone receiver, "my services don't include lap dances!"

She slammed the phone back into its cradle with such force that the person on the other end probably felt the shockwave. She had been called a lot of things in her day but she would be damned if she ever let anyone get away with calling her a hooker.

Renee Montoya sat in her small office by herself, going over her accounting books. Business had been relatively slow recently, although that was to be expected. Gotham City may be dark, corrupt, and riddled with crime but the life of a private investigator still had its off days…off weeks, in all honesty.

Renee brushed a wisp of dark hair out of her eyes and reached for the paper cup that was half-filled with stale coffee. The late nights had proved more than once to be home to several walk-in cases so she didn't mind the long hours. Killing time by balancing her books, however, may not have been the most positive way to spend the evening.

"Officer Montoya," said a low, manly voice.

Renee was taken by surprise. After all, her door was closed and she was the sole occupant of the eighteen by twenty-six office. Even when caught off-guard, however, Renee Montoya had been through enough to keep her emotions in check when it counted.

The voice had come from the window, so she placed her hand on the revolver resting underneath the desk and pivoted her neck to the opening. Crouching in the small frame was one of Gotham's "protectors" that she had run into several times over the years. This guy was one she actually trusted…to a degree.

"Nightwing," she said. "Is this how you try and show off for the ladies?"

"No," he replied. "I know my charms wouldn't work on you anyway. I hope I'm not interrupting anything."

"I'm between cases, as they say. What do you need?"

"I saw your ad in the paper today," Nightwing said, stepping down from the windowsill. "You're a PI now?"

"Out on my own, beating the streets. It's not 'Officer Montoya' anymore. That road hasn't been traveled for almost a year. About the same time your pointy-eared friend took off, I imagine."

"Since you're in between your cases now, I could use your help."

"I'm not wearing tights," Renee smirked.

"Not what I had in mind," Nightwing smiled back. "I'm also not interested in butting heads with the big wigs in the GCPD. Since I'm back in town and Batman isn't, I think it would be better if I refrained from any glory at the moment."

"Like the mess I read in today's paper about Prometheus?"

"Exactly. I also need a contact in the streets. Someone who can get information for me easier from local gangs."

"Why? Something going down?"

"I'm not sure yet," Nightwing said, crossing his arms over his chest. "I think Penguin is setting up shop in Gotham again and I need information from the foot soldiers. Flushing out the little fish so I can try and nab the big one hasn't been as easy as I thought. As I understand it, when Penguin left Bludhaven he was bankrupt and alone. Recently, there's evidence that he is anything but."

"What kind of evidence?"

"Cobblepot lost everything in Bludhaven but he just bought an entire building downtown and he paid cash. Also, small time gangs are suddenly in the business of extorting money. A bit too complex for street thugs if you ask me."

"You think someone is pulling their strings," Renee added. "Sounds pretty circumstantial to me. I doubt a judge would issue a warrant because some nut in his long johns has a hunch."

"That's where you come in," Nightwing said. "I don't trust anyone on the force right now and I don't have the time to build up a viable relationship. The last time I did that the guy ended up getting his neck broken."

"Did you at least pay for his funeral?"

"Hardly. He came back with a pair of tommy guns. Getting your head twisted back one hundred and eighty degrees isn't as fatal as it used to be."

"So what do you want me to do exactly? Harvey Bullock is my partner here still and I'm not so sure he would be ecstatic over getting involved with this." Renee sipped at her stale coffee once more, making a face as the cold liquid worked its way down her throat. That was the last time she let Harvey brew any java. "You know how he is about you types."

"Bullock, huh?" Nightwing asked. His head tilted slightly, as if he were contemplating something. "Might want to keep him in the dark then. At least for now. I need you to go check out Penguin's old cronies while I gather enough evidence for you to solicit a warrant. The bad guys have slipped through the legal cracks too many times in the past. Being captured by vigilantes doesn't hold up in court too well so we need to do this so it's an airtight conviction."

"If Penguin is actually committing a crime you mean," Renee chimed in. "You don't know for sure yet."

"No," Nightwing said, smiling. "But with the two of us looking into it, we'll know soon enough."

----------

Like most of the rooftops in Gotham, this one was covered in pebbles. Nightwing wasn't quite sure why the owners wanted the gravel there but he suspected it had something to do with keeping the birds away, or maybe stopping rainwater from building up in one spot. Whatever the reason, Nightwing hated it. Even with the sound-dampening boots he wore it was almost impossible to move silently across the stones. They shifted underneath his feet, giving away audible signs of his presence.

_Should have scouted the area better before I came over_, Nightwing thought.

Montoya was on her way to connecting with some of Cobblepot's old lieutenants while Nightwing had decided to see what he could dig up at the Penguin's recently purchased building. It was small by comparison, as the surrounding buildings dwarfed it in both size and stature. Once used to house plastics such as ice cube trays and dispensers, the Penguin had since moved in large shipments that weren't showing up on anyone's records. If Nightwing hadn't seen a cargo truck pull up to the loading dock with the license plates removed he might not have believed it himself.

The funny thing was that Penguin had filed the paperwork to begin a new club called "Icetopia" with this address on the forms. From what Nightwing could see, this was definitely not the hottest spot in town to hit the dance floor. It was possible that Cobblepot may not have gotten enough of the club set up to open yet, but it was far more likely that he filed the paperwork to keep the IRS off his back.

_Maybe he's planning on laundering money through the fake club_, Nightwing thought as he crept to the roof's edge. _Bring the money in, wash it through the tax system as a business owner, and then take the money out. Not too shabby._

Whatever was going on, part of it was happening right now. Two men had hopped out of the cab and moved to the back of the truck. They were out of Nightwing's view but he heard the large door slide open and the truck was bobbing slightly from the weight of the men boarding it. If he wanted to catch them red-handed, it was now or never.

Nightwing slipped over the edge and fell the handful of feet to a terrace where he took aim with his grappler. The black handheld device was jam-packed with a few dozen yards of high-composite cable, which was quickly unraveled when Nightwing pressed the button to fire the mechanism at his target. The tinted claw at the end of the line silently sprung out and sailed through the night, lodging itself into the corner of the building neighboring Cobblepot's. Yanking the line taut, Nightwing stepped off of the terrace and flew across the street with practiced grace.

There was no sound beneath his feet this time as he dropped down onto the top of the cargo truck. Creeping toward the back, he could see the tops of the men's heads as they briskly moved in and out of the truck, moving whatever was inside.

"Evening, boys!" Nightwing proclaimed from the edge of the truck. "Let me guess: one of you lost a bet and now you have to help the other guy move into his girlfriend's place. I hope the couch can fit up the stairwell."

"What the hell?" one of the men wearing a red baseball hat said.

"Ah, crap!" yelled the other one. "It's one of those bat guys!"

Before the conversation could go any further the hatless man threw whatever bulky thing he had been carrying right at Nightwing. The throw was haphazard at best, given the awkward size of the object, and Nightwing sidestepped it easily. It flew through the air beside him and landed a few feet back along the truck's roof. Nightwing glanced over his shoulder and was surprised to see that the man had thrown a cheap plastic chair at him.

"Mind telling me why you guys have a truck full of lawn furniture?" Nightwing asked.

The man in the red hat answered by pulling out a butterfly knife, waving it around in front of his face like he had obviously been practicing. Likewise, his friend yanked out a small revolver that had been wedged into the front of his pants and aimed it at the vigilante.

Nightwing instinctively dove for the back end of the truck, gripping the lip tightly in his hands and flipping over the edge. His right foot connected with the handgun, knocking it out of his opponent's hand and eliciting a colorful, four-letter word. The red hat lunged forward with his knife in a poor attempt at slicing Nightwing open but the vigilante was too fast for him. Ducking under his arm, Nightwing forced his shoulder into the man's abdomen and lifted him up into the air. Nightwing rushed into the wall on the dock with the red hat man hoisted onto his shoulder and the resulting impact knocked the crook out cold.

Nightwing turned just in time to see one of the plastic chairs swing straight for his head, guided by the hands of the other assailant. The black and blue of Nightwing's uniform blurred in the light of the street lamp as he rolled out of harm's way, but the man followed him down the dock, swinging wildly.

Leaning back, Nightwing waited for the man to come close enough to sweep his legs out from under him. The man angled the chair high and Nightwing took advantage of his offset balance, spinning down to the concrete and slapping the man's legs out with his own. He fell flat on his back and the chair bounced harmlessly to the ground. He immediately tried to sit up but found his ascension stopped short by the heel of Nightwing's left boot.

"Where's Penguin?" Nightwing demanded as he dug his boot into the crook's neck.

"Right here, dear boy," a warbled voice remarked from behind him. It was undoubtedly the voice of Oswald Cobblepot, the master criminal known as the Penguin. Nightwing turned his attention to the short man, ready for anything. The Penguin stood just inside the building, one of his signature umbrellas twirling in his flipper-like hand. His posture was only hampered by the physical deformities he had been cursed with. On the outside the Penguin looked like a tiny specimen one might search for in a traveling circus. On the inside, however, Cobblepot considered himself an aristocratic career criminal. "Would you be kind enough to remove your combat boot from Daniel's neck?"

Nightwing complied but kept one eye on the man he had easily taken down. Daniel scrambled back up the dock and went to see how his partner was doing. The air seemed stale now as the tension had grown considerably in the last few moments. Nightwing stayed on guard, carefully monitoring his surroundings for any traps yet to be sprung.

"I do believe this is what the police refer to as trespassing," the Penguin said. "You're not welcome here. I won't suffer an infestation of _bats_ before my grand opening."

"You're broke," Nightwing commented. "There's no way you could possibly have enough legal tender to use as start-up capital. Where did you get the money, Cobblepot? You've been making an awful lot of shipments lately. What are you shipping?"

"Supplies for my new nightclub, as you can plainly see," the Penguin answered with a devilish smirk on his face. "You will find there is nothing illegal occurring here at all, except of course for your presence. Leave before I call the authorities."

"Since when does a high-class roller such as yourself use plastic chairs in his nightclub?" Nightwing shot back. Things weren't adding up how he expected tonight. "What sort of clientele will Icetopia be aimed at I wonder? Times must be tough for you to be slumming it like this, Penguin."

The Penguin's face showed his obvious contempt at Nightwing's comments. "Beginning a legitimate business venture always has certain complications. I am not and never will be _slumming it_ as you say. You overstayed your welcome before you even arrived, rodent. Leave."

Nightwing knew he wouldn't get any further tonight. Penguin, while being a stuck-up stuffed shirt, was also correct when he said Nightwing was trespassing. If he stayed any longer or tried to force his way into the complex without any proof the courts would drop the case before it even began. Even career criminals have rights. He would have to get proof and then have Montoya secure a warrant.

"Fine," Nightwing said as he stepped back into the truck. He gripped one of the plastic chairs tightly and pressed a special trigger hidden in the palm of his glove. "Nice chairs, by the way. I think my Aunt Sophia had ones just like them on her patio."

Leaving the scowl on the Penguin's face behind him, Nightwing bounded off the wall of the building and back onto the top of the truck. He ran to the front and leapt up to catch a hanging bar from the neighboring fire escape, making his way to the roof in an impressive acrobatic display.

He continued hopping terraces and ventilation shafts without slowing down until he reached the end of the block. He paused when he caught site of the Grissom Bridge, basking silently in the moonlight. Traffic moved swiftly across the base of the bridge like it always did, but the top was what held his attention. It was there his wife sat, waiting and wondering.

He felt like a selfish idiot. He loved his wife more than anyone else on the planet and he turned his back on her in a brief flash of anger. Vaulting over another air vent, Nightwing headed for the Grissom Bridge. It was time to go home and see his wife.

----------

"I thought you left all that macho bullshit back in the cave," Barbara Grayson yelled at her husband. "We aren't the same person, Dick! We _are_ going to have a difference of opinion!"

Nightwing had shed his uniform once again so that he could speak with his wife as Dick Grayson. Sensors had shown him entering their lair from the bottom of the main support beam that sunk into the river. Instead of greeting him like she normally did upon returning she let out all the built up frustration she had gathered over the last day and a half. A woman scorned, as the cliché goes.

"Bruce's new mission in life has left Gotham vulnerable," Dick defended. "Gotham needs a Batman. It will always need a Batman. He left the city behind when he took charge of Checkmate and he apparently took you with him."

"He didn't leave the city behind, Dick. He left it to _you_. He trusts you. That's not fair to put that kind of weight on him. You, of all people! And don't you dare say to me that I've excluded Gotham from my work because you know damn well that's not true."

"Why didn't you tell me you were the White Queen now?"

Barbara, known the world over as the information broker Oracle, was at a loss for words. It was the one thing she couldn't justify to her husband. For months she had been operating behind his back and helping Bruce Wayne in his global mission, something Dick strongly disagreed with. As the White Queen she largely coordinated Checkmate's efforts in the field all over the world. By having access to the near infinite resources of Checkmate she had helped bring down numerous Society operations, but all that seemed frivolous now. She was having trouble looking Dick in the eye and that disturbed her more than the actual debate.

"I'm sorry for that," she said softly. "When Bruce came to me I was inspired. It's so hard doing what we do outside of the law. We try to bring criminals to justice but six months after we apprehend them they're right out on the street again. The courts don't recognize vigilantes, Dick. We're a short-term solution when you boil it down. Checkmate has recognized authority which means when they bust Clayface he _stays_ in jail."

"You should have told me," Dick reiterated. "I would have been on your side and supported you. I just…don't agree with it."

An uncomfortable silence fell between them. They had known each other for years but this was the first time they had really gone through a disagreement such as this one. Marriage, no matter how long the people have been involved, changes a relationship.

"I checked out Penguin's new digs tonight," Dick said to finally break the silence.

"Yeah? Any leads?"

"He's definitely up to something but I have no idea what. He was unloading a truck full of lawn furniture when I caught up with him about an hour ago."

"Lawn furniture?" Barbara asked. "For one of _Penguin's_ nightclubs? That doesn't make sense."

"I thought so, too," Dick replied as he reached into his pocket and pulled out something small and green, no bigger than a speck of dirt. "That's why I scraped off a piece from one of the chairs. Feel like running some tests on it?"

She wheeled across the room to him and took the tiny shard of plastic from his hand. As her fingers closed around the plastic he placed his other hand on top of hers and looked down into her eyes.

"I'm sorry," he said. "I've been acting like an idiot lately. I'm sorry for everything." Dick kneeled down on one knee so he was level with Barbara, keeping her hands grasped in his own. "I love you."

"I love you, too," she responded. "Even if you're a thickheaded guy."

Dick leaned in and kissed his wife, the previous anger and frustration melting away as their lips pressed together. Even though marriage changes any relationship it also strengthens the bond between one another. Forgiveness and understanding were two virtues that the couple believed in wholeheartedly.

"Can you run those tests for me, Wheelchair Wonder?" Dick chided as the kiss ended.

"Only because you have a cute butt," she teased him. Pulling away as Dick stood up, Barbara wheeled over to the workbench and flipped the switch to power up her equipment. "What am I looking for?"

"The chemical makeup I guess," Dick answered. "If I can find enough evidence to nail Penguin, Montoya will be able to acquire an arrest warrant and get the police over there."

"Renee Montoya?"

Dick nodded. "She's a private investigator now along with Bullock. Like you were just saying, vigilante justice is a short-term solution. I figured if I'm going to be back in Gotham full-time I needed friends on the right side of the law. Since your father doesn't have as much pull in the police department as he used to I thought Montoya would be a good friend to have on my side."

"If I wasn't already aware of her lifestyle I might actually be jealous," Barbara teased again. One of the analyzers beside her chirped as the results flashed across the screen, drawing her attention back to the work at hand. "Hmm…looks like your plastic chairs are a composite of silicone and heroin."

"I thought as much," Dick said as his brow crinkled while he put the pieces together. "Cobblepot is broke and he isn't the kind of guy who can stand it. Bluldhaven was decimated so he cut his losses and moved back into Gotham since Batman hasn't been spotted in a year. He thinks its safe to start up his operations again and what better way to acquire a quick buck than to corner the market in heroin? He must have some way of extracting the drug from the chairs so he can get it on the streets."

"Melting it down would be easy enough," Barbara added. "Once in a liquid form I bet a centrifuge would separate the chemicals perfectly. Package it up, find some foot soldiers to hit the streets, and you're in business."

"That would explain how the normally smalltime street gangs have been getting organized lately. I bet Penguin is using them to distribute. Great," he said sarcastically. "Just what we needed. A new drug lord in Gotham."

----------

The tiny, dim office was completely empty except for an old desk, a phone, and a single light resting at the edge of the desk. Oswald Cobblepot sat behind the desk in a chair one of his men had found in the back alley, complete with stains and squeaky wheel. These were definitely not the conditions he was accustomed to.

"I don't care what rumors you've heard!" Penguin warbled into the phone. "You'll get your money! Just get to Gotham as fast as you can. I have special need of your services immediately. The Bat is still hiding but his protégé has recently made an appearance at my new establishment. I cannot afford an inconvenience such as him at this juncture. Remove my problem and your financial considerations will be met accordingly. I'll expect to see you along with the others tomorrow night. Do not disappoint me."

Penguin slammed the phone into its cradle with as much strength as his deformed hand could muster. He was afraid that the rumors floating through the underworld would damage his reputation to the point where his fellow criminals would not longer consider him worthy of their attention. Mercenaries may go to the highest dollar but they were sometimes fickle about the jobs they chose.

"Everything all right, boss?" asked Daniel. The bruise Nightwing had given him earlier was turning a dark shade of blue as he held an ice pack up against it.

"Our hired enforcers will be here tomorrow evening," Penguin answered. "They shall see to it that the Batman's trained puppy will be of no further trouble to me. Once his head is gracefully skewered on a spear I'll have a god's grasp on the drug trade in Gotham City and this squalor will be left behind me where it belongs."

----------

**Writer's Nest**

_Looks like Nightwing is in for a bit of trouble. Who did Penguin hire to take down our hero? More than one mercenary, I'll tell you that right now (including a brand new villain)!_

_After setting some things up with Mike Hintze, the EiC of DC Infinity, Renee Montoya makes her OYL appearance in this issue. I think it's great that a character created specifically for the cartoon Batman series has become so popular among fans. Now if we can just get Marvel to tweak Firestar a little I'll really be impressed. Montoya will come to have an important role in Nightwing's life as you'll see in the coming arcs._

_See you next month for more roofhopping action!_

_-D. Golightly_

_9/2/06_


	6. Bird On a Wire

**Nightwing**

Issue #6

"Bird On a Wire"

No matter how old Dick Grayson became, he would always feel like the Boy Wonder. His wife constantly told him that he was a kid at heart and would probably never grow out of it, and that was just fine with him.

The rooftops of Gotham had been his playground as a child. Under the supervision of his mentor, the Batman, he had spent many nights vaulting across alleys, flipping over terraces, and sliding down fire escape railings. In France this act was called _parkour_ and had become quite popular among today's youth. Now older, Nightwing still enjoyed a good night's exercise by way of the French inspired free style. It was more of an art than an actual discipline but Nightwing was mostly just having fun anyway. It was a nice way to unwind after a long night of tossing thugs up against walls.

Gripping the safety rail on the edge of a condemned building, Nightwing shot himself up and over the alley, landing in a tight roll on the adjacent roof. Immediately bounding up from the roll, he sprung up onto an air vent, keeping perfect balance as he navigated its thin platform. From there he dove into the next alley face first, somersaulting head over heels as he fell through the night air. Halfway down he kicked both of his feet out against the alley wall, dramatically changing his trajectory so he was now slanted and heading for the other wall. Somersaulting again and repeating the process, Nightwing gently touched down in the alley after pushing off of the second wall. He wasn't even breathing hard yet.

Nightwing crept up behind a dumpster, being careful to hug the wall and stay concealed in the shadows. Across the street was one of the seediest bars in all of South Gotham, a little place called El Campo. The bar was currently housing the One-Niners, a smalltime group of street hoodlums that had recently graduated to drug trafficking. From the rooftops, Nightwing had a bird's eye view of the front entrance but what he needed to see was only visible from street level. After his brisk workout in getting here, Nightwing decided now was the perfect time to get a good look at the gang leader.

"Which one are you, Pablo?" he whispered.

Nightwing had connected the dots between Penguin's new drug operation and the One-Niners, but he had yet to see their leader. Montoya had told him through her contacts that Pablo Z had taken control of the gang with help from Penguin, effectively putting the thug in Cobblepot's pocket. That meant that if Nightwing could put the squeeze on Pablo Z he might be able to gain access to all of Penguin's distribution routes.

From across the street in the alley Nightwing could see that the windows looked like they hadn't been cleaned in a decade, making it that much harder to spy on anyone inside. He didn't put much stock in the street gang's ability to take him down if he simply waltzed in there, but he didn't want to start a fight if he didn't have to.

_Just show your face_, Nightwing thought. _That's all I'm asking._

Suddenly, the hairs on the back of his exposed neck stood up, alerting him of something. Nightwing didn't possess a sixth sense of any kind but he still knew he was no longer alone. Judging from the time of night and how unlikely it was that a friend would try to sneak up on him, it had to be someone he didn't want to have anything to do with.

It wasn't a windy night so Nightwing immediately picked up on the minute breeze at his back. There was barely anything there but after the intense training he had endured throughout his life he knew when there was a person standing behind him. There was a certain feeling he got whenever someone tried to sneak up on him like they were now. Whoever it was they were obviously being careful as he hadn't heard them but instead _felt_ their presence.

His first instinct was to back flip up as high as he could and try to land behind them, or possibly on top of them. He guessed they were probably fifteen feet behind him and with the fire escape dangling directly above him he would never be able to get airborne enough to cover the distance. That left his options severely limited. Nightwing was typically a high-flyer, Batman even going so far as to refer to his fighting style as "a trapeze kung fu."

He only had a few seconds to act before the person behind him decided to strike. Pressing a silent switch on his glove, a tiny chamber opened up at the wrist of his gauntlets, exposing a compartment filled to the brim with flashbang charges.

Pulling in a quick breath Nightwing dove to his right and rolled along his shoulders on the cold alley floor. Whipping his arm around, the charges flew out into the night, some exploding in midair, the rest pummeling the man behind him. He didn't get a good look at him but his silhouette was huge. The light bounced oddly off of the stalker's left hand, like it was being reflected somehow.

"_Святейшая мать!" _the man screamed in surprise. He covered his face and reached out with his left hand, the shiny appendage erupting in gunfire. Muzzle flash lit up the alley walls just as the flashbangs had done, only these bursts of light were quickly followed by deadly bullets. Hot lead whizzed through the air randomly, the man still blinded by Nightwing's surprise attack.

"Oh boy…" Nightwing said as he leapt straight up to grab onto the fire escape. He hauled himself up and out of harm's way, feeling the bullets just barely miss his head and torso. A shiny left hand coupled with a thick Russian accent meant his assailant could only be one man. "KGBeast. What are you doing here?"

"Where…ah, yes!" The Russian assassin shook his head to sweep the dots out of his vision, turning his attention to Nightwing's perch at the edge of the fire escape railing. "Little bird, I am here to wipe the walls down with your blood!"

The KGBeast raised his cybernetic appendage and fired off three more shots, not bothering to aim. Nightwing pushed off of the railing and fell straight at his enemy, pulling one of his patented escrima fighting sticks into his hand at the same time. Just as he was about to bash the end of it into the KGBeast's face, the assassin pivoted strangely, defying his massive bulk, and palmed the back of Nightwing's head at just the right moment. Adding to Nightwing's momentum, the KGBeast forced him face first into the hard ground.

"You forget I once defeated your mentor," the Beast stated over the barely conscious form of Nightwing. "You move differently than him but you are just as predictable. I would break you in half but I have orders to keep you alive for the time being."

"Whose…orders…" Nightwing mumbled. He was feigning slightly to try and keep the KGBeast talking, but he wasn't faking _too_ much. Slamming into the ground like that had hurt. A lot.

"Your Penguin's," he answered. Even though his face, like most of his body, was completely covered by a red and blue mask it still looked like he had a smug smile plastered on his face. "We leaked the information about the gang meeting in that wretched bar to get you in our sights. You Americans will never stop watering down your vodka."

"We…?"

"_Da_," the Beast responded. "Now, should I break your ankles before--"

Nightwing didn't give him the chance to finish his sentence. Faking the drowsiness had helped him recover a little bit but his head was still reeling with pain. Summoning all of his speed, Nightwing shoved the heel of his reinforced boot into the KGBeast's groin, eliciting a yelp from the assassin. It was a dirty tactic but if there were more bad guys around like KGBeast had implied, Nightwing didn't have time to be polite. At the very least it wasn't a predictable move for a hero to make.

Nightwing nip-upped into a solid stance and drove his left elbow into the Beast's abdominal muscles, forcing the air out of his lungs. Snapping out his other escrima, Nightwing connected the tip of the weapon with the assassin's face with a loud _crack!_ Nightwing couldn't help but feel like he was being a little too intense but he needed to take the Beast down quickly. He outweighed Nightwing considerably and was just as fast, if not faster. The simple fact that the assassin had once taken down the Batman was enough to worry Nightwing.

"Stay down," Nightwing commanded.

Instead of replying pleasantly, the KGBeast charged Nightwing from his already bent over position. A giant shoulder slammed into Nightwing, who wasn't expecting the attack since he had just kickstarted the Beast's recuperative abilities. Nightwing grunted as his spine connected with the dumpster he had been crouched behind. The green-painted steel twanged as he connected, every nerve ending in his back crying for help.

The KGBeast proceeded to swing his leg back to garner enough power to continue slamming his shoulder into Nightwing's torso, crushing him against the dumpster like a bull rushing the red cape. Strike after strike, the Beast kept ramming Nightwing into the dumpster. Darkness drifted into Nightwing's peripheral vision, this time for real.

Finally, the assault let up long enough for Nightwing to droop forward at which point the Beast cold-cocked him on the side of the head. Stars erupted into the darkness in his eyes and Nightwing fell forward, once again hitting the cold alley floor.

"Fighting dirty, _da?_" he asked rhetorically. "Maybe I break your shins along with your ankles."

Nightwing was in bad shape. He was fairly sure that the ribs Prometheus had broken were at least cracked again. He could feel a bruise forming on the side of his face, which was probably already turning a nice shade of blue.

"Maybe I forget that the Penguin ordered you to be brought in alive," the KGBeast continued. He bent over and easily picked Nightwing up in his one good hand, hoisting him off the ground. He held the former boy wonder up in the moonlight by his throat with his arm-gun pointed at his face.

"Forgetting…something…" Nightwing muttered.

"What is that?" the Beast laughed in response.

"Cybernetics…connected directly to your nervous system…" Nightwing grasped the arm-gun and slammed his palm onto the front of his utility belt, activating his suit's electroshock feature. Electricity crackled all around them, once again illuminating the dim alley walls. The KGBeast convulsed rapidly as foam began to build up under his mask, threatening to choke him. After a few seconds, Nightwing slapped his belt again and the Beast dropped him, falling to the ground motionless.

_Thank God for insulation_, he thought.

Even though his suit had protected him his hand still felt like it was on fire. The energy had arced back slightly where he was gripping the Beast's cybernetic arm to complete the circuit and it hurt badly. Not nearly as bad as his ribcage, but it was enough to distract him.

Nightwing turned back to street and faced the bar across it. He wasn't sure if he should call for help or storm the place and see whom he could beat some answers out of.

_Plink! Plink!_

"What the--?"

Nightwing jumped back as two more chunks of asphalt exploded around his feet, driving him back into the alley. The sounds were barely there, but he could hear them. Just before small bits of the sidewalk bust into the air a distinctive sound reached his ears. It was the unmistakable noise of a silencer on a high-power rifle.

_Perfect,_ he thought as he leapt back into the alley and hugged the wall, _a sniper. Just what I need right now. Judging from the angle he must be on top of the bar. Maybe if I can get low enough I can see who…oh, crap…_

The sniper was resting on top of El Campo, not even trying to hide his presence. With one foot on top of the roof edge and a smoking rifle in his hands, the legendary marksman Deadshot stood silently. The red and silver of his costume shone brilliantly in the open sky and his solitary targeting eye gently scanned the alley, waiting for Nightwing to step out again.

"I would love to put one in between your domino-masked eyes," Deadshot hollered down, "but as I'm sure the Russian told you we're being paid to bring you in alive. You just sit tight in that pigeon hole while my other associate comes over to collect you."

More of them? I wonder what all these guys are going to think when they find out Penguin is bankrupt.

The door to El Campo swung open and a thin, wiry man walked into the street. He was pale, even in the moonlight, and it looked like he had stepped out of a vampire movie. He looked more like the victim instead of the nosferatu, surprisingly.

"Wait right there, mate," the man said, a slight Australian accent poking through. "I'll be over just as soon as I change my skin. This one's a might itchy, ya know? Hehehe…"

He was wearing a brown trenchcoat that flapped softly in the wind until he dropped it to the ground, completely exposing his naked body. He was older, possibly around forty years of age. Nightwing had never seen the man before. He didn't recognize him from the various dossiers in both the GCPD and the Batman's files. Whoever he was, he was new and seriously creepy.

The man continued to laugh, softly at first but it soon became a roaring howl that pierced the night. "Hehehe-HAHAHAHA!" he continued to laugh as his eyes grew larger and the veins in his neck began to stand out. Then, like a bad horror movie, the man began to change.

His body contorted strangely as his muscles began to bulge inside of his skin, apparently trying to rip themselves free of his fragile frame. The process, whatever it was, looked incredibly painful but the man continued to laugh maniacally. Nightwing was stuck there, forced to watch since Deadshot had cornered him in the alley.

The man finally hiccuped in his laughter as the first piece of his skin tore away to reveal a patch of brown fur. Lacerations quickly formed in other places but no blood flowed out. In a matter of moments, his entire body was covered in the brown animal fur and his entire face had been replaced by what looked like a vicious demon. Sharp teeth and claws twinkled as drool began to fall out of the monster's mouth, the laughing still raging on. It was a truly horrific moment to behold.

From his perch Deadshot merely watched nonchalantly, as if this was nothing new to him. He kept the tip of his rifle pointed at the alleyway, ready to pepper the ground once more if Nightwing dared to make a run for it.

_Where does Penguin find these guys?_ Nightwing thought. _I've never even heard of a guy like…wait a minute…grotesque lycanthropic transformation, a piercing and uncontrollable laughter, and a full moon out tonight. I cannot believe it. This is not happening to me._

"You're a Hyena," Nightwing said.

"Hehe…you got that right, mate…hehehe-HAHA!" The man stalked forward toward Nightwing, the laughter overtaking him once again. His eyes were gelled over with a crazed intent and Nightwing was sure only his blood would sate the creature.

Nightwing couldn't believe it had taken him so long to recognize a victim of the Hyena curse. There were two Hyenas on record although one of them had recently been killed by Deadshot, adding irony to the current situation. Unlike a typical werewolf, the Hyena was capable of speech and higher thinking. Whoever was damned with the Hyena curse was both condemned to a queer life and blessed with insane strength, reflexes, and stamina.

Nightwing stepped further back into the alley, quickly trying to take hold of his surroundings. The KGBeast was a tough cookie but the Hyena was superhuman. He would need a lot more than a gimmick costume to knock out the monster.

The laughter, almost impossibly, became louder when the Hyena stepped through the mouth of the alley. The creature almost looked frantic with the possibility of tasting Nightwing's flesh. He wondered just how in control the man inside really was.

Without warning, the Hyena jumped the distance between them and slashed at Nightwing. The razor sharp claws barely missed the hero as he ducked, instead catching the mortar in between the bricks of the wall. Amazingly, the claws dug deep enough into the crumbling mortar to actually hold the creature there for a split second, which was all Nightwing needed to make his move.

Without mercy, Nightwing stabbed two of his edged wingdings into the side of the Hyena, wedging them in the side of the creature. The Hyena didn't yell in pain as he pulled his nails out of the wall. He just laughed. Even the Joker would have been taken aback at the monster's laughter. It was bloodcurdling and childlike at the same time.

The Hyena lashed out at Nightwing again, this time catching his right shoulder. His insulated costume served to cease the claws from reaching his skin but a good junk of the Kevlar had been ripped out.

"Heh…Did I get ya? Did I get ya? Hehehe…" the Hyena mocked. Nightwing pivoted back just in time to avoid another swipe of the Hyena's claws but never saw the creature's foot coming. The talons on the animal's right foot cut across Nightwing's midsection, streaking across his costume and leaving three ominous trails in the micro-fiber weaving.

_I'm going to run out of costume before this fight is over_, Nightwing mulled to himself while avoiding another punishing slash of nail and fur.

Nightwing was forced further back into the alley, closer to the dead end waiting behind him. The Hyena was relentless in his attacks, slashing both high and low and laughing all the while. Nightwing had already taken quite a beating from the KGBeast and he wasn't sure how much longer he could avoid the creature's claws.

"Penguin said to bring you in alive hehehe," the man beneath the monster said. "You'll live without your arms and legs HAHAHA!"

Nightwing summoned the rest of his strength and pushed off of the ground, easily able to gain enough height to hop over the monster. Instead of pouncing over the Hyena, however, he used the explosive force of his jump to drive his right knee into the Hyena's jaw, snapping it shut for the first time. The Muay Thai inspired maneuver, called a Kao Dode, succeeded in catching the creature off-guard and Nightwing lashed out with his own relentless attacks. Both escrima sticks in hand, Nightwing whapped the Hyena in the face again and again, refusing to let up until the creature fell. A stray tooth fell out of his mouth, causing the Hyena to finally stop giggling during the assault.

The Hyena finally stepped back out of Nightwing's reach and then just as quickly pushed forward again in an attempt to catch the hero off balance. The Hyena snapped its mouth open and closed several times, trying to snag Nightwing's head in its impressive array of sharp teeth.

Nightwing fell into a squat and shoved an escrima into the side of the creature, aiming for the wingdings still lodged here. The white fighting stick hit its mark, forcing the small metal throwing instrument further into the Hyena's side. The creature yelped like a canine before feebly lashing out one final time and wobbling over to the wall to slide to the ground.

"Bloody 'ell hehe…" the Australian man complained. "I'm losing blood, I am. That ain't supposed to 'appen."

The Hyena whimpered between soft giggles as the hairy features began to fade away into pale human flesh. Nightwing rubbed his ribs to try and ease the pain as the creature changed back into the unknown man that had walked out of El Campo. He looked like the complete opposite of the creature Nightwing had just fought: timid, weak, scrawny.

"Do you yield?" he asked the Australian.

"Piss off!"

The darkness that had threatened to overwhelm Nightwing earlier now completely engulfed the Australian as the hero balled up his fist and took out his frustration from the night on the man's face.

---------------

The distinct sound of a dog yelping in pain echoed out of the alley and into Deadshot's ears. The sounds of the brawl suddenly stopped and Deadshot now had to assume that his makeshift partner was defeated.

"Amatuer," Deadshot mumbled. He adjusted the scope on his faceplate and zoomed into the alley slightly, switching on the infrared feature. He needed something done right so he would have to do it himself.

Even though his angle wouldn't allow a clear view of the entire alley, there were two heat signatures showing through the brick walls. While more sophisticated than most special ops equipment his helmet's infrared feature only showed the stronger heat sources which helped to identify his targets and cut down on background heat. One average-sized blotch was moving slightly, hovering over the second and third large heat sources. The first had to be Nightwing as he was still moving. The second and third bulky figures must have been the Hyena the Beast.

Deadshot took aim, released the safeguard on his rifle, and fired through the brick wall. The first blotch fell over beside the second and stayed there. He was sure he had only shot the man's kneecap, which meant he didn't have to worry about arguing with Penguin about the price of a dead hero. He switched back to normal vision and leaned his rifle against the roof edge. All he had to do now was drop down to the street and collect his prize.

"Mighty big gun you have there," Nightwing commented from behind him. "Compensating for something?"

Deadshot whirled around, his wrist-mounted cannon firing. Nightwing expected the attack and had already rolled to the side, three wingdings already sailing through the air. All three cut into Deadshot's arm, two of them amazingly knocking off the cannon in the process while the third sliced his red suit and opened up a gash.

"Take it easy, Lawton," Nightwing said, steadying himself for anything. "It's been a long night and there's no need to make this difficult."

"Penguin said you were tricky," Deadshot replied, raising his arms to show he was giving up. "Mind telling me whose knee I just blew out back there?"

"Nobody's."

"Pardon me?"

"I'll explain after the police get here. Turn around and get down on your knees, slowly."

Deadshot stood completely still which startled Nightwing. The sniper was one of the most deadly men in the world and if Nightwing wasn't in control of the situation then Deadshot certainly was. A brief moment passed silently between them before Nightwing decided to step forward and take down Deadshot by force.

"I wouldn't do that if I were - _click!_ - you. Nevermind."

Nightwing mentally swore at himself for being so careless. He was exhausted from his fights with the KGBeast and the Hyena. He looked down at his feet to verify what he had just stepped on.

"It's called a Bouncing Betty," Deadshot explained as he picked up his rifle and wrist cannon. "Once you relieve the pressure on it, it jumps up three feet and detonates. Now, this specific Bouncing Betty landmine has been packed tight with C4 instead of the usual powdered charges. You move and this entire building will go up in a big ball of fire." Deadshot hopped up onto the edge of the roof and tilted his head to one side. "I don't know what you pulled in that alley to save yourself from me but I won't forget it."

"You're not going to try and take me down now? Won't Penguin be upset with his little soldier?"

"Penguin can keep his money on the basis that I'm actually entertained tonight. Besides, there's no way for me to knock you out without detonating the mine. I may long for the dark side of the moon but I'm not suicidal. I'll be back someday for a rematch…that is, if you and Betty can find a way of getting along without me."

Deadshot casually stepped back off of the ledge and fell through the open air. Nightwing wasn't surprised to hear a motorcycle speed off a moment later. Deadshot was the kind of person that always had an escape plan. Now, he just had to figure out a way to save himself.

"You still there, Oracle?" he whispered into his comlink.

: Yep. Did you grab Deadshot: the strong voice of his wife said through the electronic signal.

"Nope. He set me up on a date instead."

: Excuse me:

"Forget it. He didn't realize that you had hacked into his faceplate optics via the satellite link he's got going. I'm sure he'll figure out that you made him see whatever you wanted when he had the infrared turned on, but right now I need a little help."

: So he got away:

"Sure did."

: All that good hacking and you can't even gloat: she sighed. : Oh, well. What do you need help with now:

"I need you to call Montoya and have her get the police to pick up the KGBeast and a new Hyena in the alley across from El Campo. Make sure they know who they're dealing with; these guys are killers."

: No problem, anything else, lover:

"Yeah," Nightwing said, the exhaustion forcing its way into his voice. "I need you to walk me through disarming my date."

**Writer's Nest**

_Nightwing should always have lots of action so I hope I've delivered accordingly. Make no mistake about it; Deadshot will be popping up again soon._

_I really like the direction the recent Batman books have been going at the real DC. One thing I really hated, however, was the fact that the KGBeast was recently killed off. He was such a cool character! Oh, well…at least he can live on in this fanfic series._

_Up next, Nightwing gets in touch with his alter-ego._

_-D. Golightly_

_10/4/06 _


	7. STREET SWEEPERS Day 1:Blood in the Water

**Nightwing**

Issue #7

"STREET SWEEPERS"

Day One – Blood in the Water

"Still tinkering, huh?" the pleasantly feminine voice asked from behind the cluttered worktable.

"I noticed the wheel alignment was off when I broke up the Alphas' street gang the other week," Dick Grayson replied from the undercarriage of his beastly automobile. "I figured that while I was at it--"

"You would ignore your wife and install a new GPS system?" Barbara chimed in.

Dick smirked even though his wife couldn't see it from her vantage point. In truth, over the last couple of days they had _both_ been hard at work in the lowest level of the Nest. She was just as busy as he was but it was nice to hear a but of levity in her voice.

"You should be thanking me," he teased. "With this new equipment you'll be able to keep track of me at any spot on the planet. The moment I step out to moonlight with Harley or Ivy, you'll know."

He slipped out from under the automobile just in time to catch the rag Barbara had thrown at him. Instead of throwing something back in retaliation, he jokingly dabbed at the black oil smudged on his face. He was glad to have such a wonderful woman in his life and was even happier that their recent problems had been long forgotten. He hated arguing, especially with her. The simple fact of the matter was that she was better at it than he was.

"What are you working on?" he asked as he sprung up from the cold cement floor.

"Updating our mainframe," she answered. The various pieces of motherboards, data discs, and stripped wire were piled in front of her like a mountain of silicone. "We've got the space to make this headquarters as good as the Cave. Just need a little patience and a little elbow grease. I'm looking at you for that second one, Boy Wonder."

Dick wiped at his hands with the rag, slowly turning and taking in the expansive sublevel of the Nest. The very top floor, where they spent most of their time, housed living quarters and Babs' state of the art computer rig, but a quick elevator ride brought you to the base of their HQ. A cannel connected them to three tunnels big enough to squeeze Dick's automobile through, plus a waterway provided access to the river. There was plenty of open space for worktables, exercise mats, computer equipment, generators, and even a small gymnasium. All of this was secretly part of the Grissom Bridge in the heart of South Gotham.

_Not exactly the cave,_ Dick thought, _but not too shabby, either._

"Love to help, sweetheart, but I've got a date."

Babs sized him up from behind her magnifying goggles, the unpleasant look in her eyes expanded by the lenses. "Excuse me? That better have been a joke. There's still a remote detonator in your car I haven't told you about."

"It was, it was!" he said, raising his hands in defense. "A woman scorned and all that…don't worry about me straying." Dick tossed the rag back on Barbara's worktable as made his way around a bulky storage container and over to a small sealed chamber.

"So spill, Mr. Grayson," she commanded. "What's on your agenda for tonight?"

Dick pulled the small door on the chamber open and grabbed one of his uniforms, the black and blue coloring fitting in perfectly with the dark undertones of his hair and eyes. He began to change into the costume, checking his gauntlets and utility belt as he dressed, making sure the various gadgets and weapons hidden within were still in working order. As a final touch, he slapped his trademark escrima fighting sticks into place on his back and slid his mask into place.

"I have a meeting with the mayor of Gotham City," he answered.

---------------

The anger bubbled inside of him, desperate for a valve to explode through. He knew that he had to remain calm, but after what he had been through, he found it so hard to concentrate. He wanted to see Nightwing dead. That was the only way he could regain his ability to sleep a full night.

As a former member of the League of Assassins, he was elite among martial artists. Proportionally, there were only a handful of men and women on the planet that could best him. That simple fact alone was enough to cause him shame after his defeat. Even after taking up his mentor's namesake, he still felt weak and fragile when he should be standing proud and strong.

The irritating noise of a telephone rang in his crummy, one room apartment. He hated the disgusting squalor he was forced to live in, but what choice did he have? Until Nightwing was dead under his feet he must remain waiting. With hope, he grabbed the receiver from its cradle, silently anxious for this call to be the one he needed to hear.

The shrouded voice on the other end of the telephone line whispered his orders and then hung up. Shrike replaced the receiver and smiled. His time had finally come. After all the waiting, the sitting still impatiently, the waxing of his skills…he finally had permission to murder the traitorous Nightwing.

The man once known as Boone flexed his arm muscles to test their limits, making sure he hadn't grown soft over the last few weeks. After his last defeat at the hands of Nightwing, his skills had been outsourced by the League of Assassins. He had been resigned to taking orders from someone he barely knew. He felt like his talents had been wasted, especially in East Africa. His business with the Society was finished, his new employer eventually sending him to lie in wait in South Gotham.

Shrike stepped away from phone and toward a large map of the city held to the wall by thumbtacks. It was the only way he had spent his time, outside of honing his skills as best he could in the dank apartment. The map was lined with thin pins, linked together by bits of red string in a haphazard pattern. Haphazard to anyone except for him. Each stab of a pin in the map represented known locations of Nightwing, a place where the "hero" had popped up to do something. It was Shrike's intent to narrow the playing field by figuring out where Nightwing called home. The changes recently made in the GCPD made the areas easy to spot since the new Commissioner hated the vigilante and used the papers every chance he got to tell the world his opinions.

In fact, the morning's newspaper made mention of a thwarted mugging on East Carson Street the previous evening. The police had arrived on the scene to discover the perpetrator tied up and left hanging from a fire escape. Shrike stuck another pin into the map and stepped back to once again discern the location he desired the most.

Judging from the pattern forming, he was getting close to his goal. It was only a matter of time, especially since he just received orders to move on to his expected target.

---------------

"What do you mean you didn't ask me to come here?" Renee Montoya asked. "Harvey told me you left a message about meeting in your office tonight, Commish."

James Gordon leaned back in his comfortable chair, the light from his lamp reflecting off of his glasses. His desk was covered in stacks of papers, completely disorganized to everyone but him. His trenchcoat hung in the corner, free of all wrinkles and stains. His once gray mustache was totally white now, something his daughter never let him forget. He pulled in a deep breath and let it out slowly, eyeing up his former employee with traces of pride in his memory.

"I'm not going to tell you again not to call me that," he replied. "I haven't been the Commissioner for quite some time. Besides, you're not even on the force anymore."

"You'll always be the Commish in my book," Montoya stated, meaning every word. "Whether I'm working under you or not doesn't matter."

She smiled at the former head of the Gotham City Police Department, wishing that change wasn't such a big part of life. Times had been tough for her when she had been a cop, but times were tough for all of them. They had been a family, their precinct relying on each other more than any of them let on. She trusted Gordon with her life and the life of everyone she knew. Even though he would never tell her so, Jim Gordon felt the same way.

"I'm sorry, but I still didn't leave you any message," he repeated. "Unless I'm getting senile…"

"I'm the one who left the message for her to meet us here, actually."

Both of the former police officers turned to face the new voice that had entered the room undetected. Gordon, who had been in situations like this more times than he could recall, simply sat up straight in his chair and reached for his pipe. Montoya, caught off her guard, reached for the gun in her shoulder holster but quickly relaxed when she saw who had spoken.

Nightwing sat comfortably in a crouch just inside the open window, his hands casually resting on top of his bent knees. He smiled, an eerie contradiction from his general appearance as a waiting gargoyle perched and lying in wait. The dark colors of his costume absorbed the ambient light and his face was partially covered in the shadow provided by the window frame.

"Sorry about any confusion," Nightwing said, "but I needed to talk with both of you at the same time."

"I suppose you've been using her as a helping hand on the streets then?" Gordon asked as he puffed away at his pipe. "I've noticed that a few of the cases she's been wrapping up originated with some rather shady details. Trying to dodge the limelight, eh?"

"Exactly," he replied. "Montoya is someone we can trust."

"Damn straight," she cut in. "You could have just told me it was you leaving the message."

"I would have except that Harvey answered the phone in your office. Bullock is a straight arrow but I'm not ready to bring him on board yet. Something tells me he wouldn't take kindly to working with me."

"He eventually came around with your mentor," Gordon said. "Bullock is a good man. You should give him a chance."

"Maybe later on down the line," the vigilante admitted. "For now the two of you are the only ones I want guarding my back."

Montoya stepped forward and sipped at the scalding coffee in her hand, savoring the warmth it provided. Her long hair was pulled back showing her exquisite features and stern expression. In the last month and a half she had been working a number of open cases with her private investigation partner Harvey Bullock, most of which had been handed to her by Nightwing. She had been hesitant at first but the relationship seemed to be mutually beneficial and she placed a certain amount of trust in the rooftop-hopping hero.

"So what's this clandestine meeting about then?" she asked.

"I want all of us to be on the same page," Nightwing answered. "Something big is brewing on the streets and since I don't have the resources inside the GCPD that Batman did I need us to keep our eyes open. Penguin is moving drugs through the city and taking over the local thugs to use as distributors."

"So the local bad boys are now pooling their efforts under Cobblepot?" Gordon asked rhetorically. The smoke billowed out from between his lips as he thought about the implications of a known criminal mastermind with nothing to lose. "By keeping his own operations separate from the distributors he's playing it smart. The manpower and general structure is all ready there. All Penguin had to do was step in and take over the street punks."

"I don't think drugs are his main purpose for returning to Gotham," Nightwing commented. "He's getting ready for something big. I just don't know what."

"Organized crime as a whole in Gotham has been shaky recently," Montoya said. "He could be gaining allies in a coming turf war. Remember that murder a couple months ago? Joshua Milton, a big time CEO, killed off by Prometheus?"

Nightwing nodded, remembering the incident that eventually led to the capture of Prometheus. The insane mast criminal had been impersonating Batman and murdering people as he saw fit. It was a nasty altercation that Nightwing realized he had been lucky to walk away from.

_As close calls go_, he thought, _that's as close as I ever want to get._

"Well, he was originally suspected of insider trading, but my contacts in the GCPD told me they found a boatload of illegal firearms housed in one of his warehouses. It looked to be part of some kind of Underground Railroad for hot weapons."

"Where are the weapons now?" Gordon asked.

"Gone," Montoya responded before taking another sip of her coffee. "My source told me they disappeared the other night. All inventories say the guns never existed and were never confiscated. Ever since those guns disappeared the big shots in crime have been getting antsy. It's a pressure cooker out there."

"The corruption is running pretty deep these days," Gordon said with a shake of his head. "The whole department has become a disgrace in the last year. I wouldn't put it passed Penguin to have this new Commissioner in his pocket. If he gets a hold of those guns--"

"I'm on it," Nightwing broke in. "Although I'm not convinced it's Penguin that took the guns. Renee, can you squeeze your sources a little harder? We need to find anything that can tell us where those guns went."

Montoya nodded as she finished her coffee. "I told Harv I would meet up with him soon to check out a lead. I'll see what I can find out, but until then, keep me in the loop." She tossed the empty cup into the trash and adjusted her coat before moving to the door. She paused after opening it, turning around slightly to face the men behind her. "Don't push me out of this."

The door closed behind her, leaving the pair alone in the clean office. Nightwing slipped off the windowsill and stood tall, stretching his legs slightly to wake them up.

"She's still acting like she has something to prove," Gordon commented. "Good move bringing her on board, though. She was a good cop. She'll help turn things around in Gotham."

"I think so, too," Nightwing added. "Lord knows your daughter and I need all the help we can get."

"Babs enjoying that Nest you stuffed her into?" Gordon said, laughing slightly.

"I couldn't pull her out of there if I tried. How are you holding up?"

The older man leaned back in his chair again, enjoying the sweet taste of the smoke passing over his tongue. He knew if his daughter had caught him smoking again she would start quoting statistics and demand he quit immediately. He loved his daughter and he really had tried to stop, but sometimes he just needed to relax and the pipe helped take him back to simpler times. Times before he knew his daughter was one of the world's heroes, constantly fighting a dangerous fight. Times before supervillians and lunatic grudges. Times before accepting a vigilante into his family.

"The job adds to my stress by the doctor says I'm healthier than ever," he answered. "Knowing you're out there every night making this city safer helps, Dick. Just watch your back."

Nightwing smiled before jumping back into the window, preparing to leave. "Don't worry about me, Mr. Mayor. Things are finally turning around in Gotham."

---------------

Bullets tore through the wall, piercing the thick cement and plunging into the frightened flesh of several bodyguards. The woman behind them screamed as they slumped to the floor of the protective bunker, dead.

The only entrance into the bunker rocked as something large slammed against it, sounding desperate to break in. The Asian woman quickly grabbed the firearm off of her dead guard and leveled it at the door, terrified of what was trying to bust through.

Again and again the door was nearly jarred off its hinges as the mysterious assailant kept up his assault. The walls of the bunker should have protected her from the insane soldiers infiltrating her home, but the weapons they were using were like none she had seen before. As one of the top Mafia members on the East Coast, she had seen enough weapons to last her a lifetime. She was beginning to think that she should have retired when Bludhaven was destroyed.

With one final and powerful shove, the door cracked open and light spilled into the bunker, illuminating the terror on Lady Minh's face. She raised the gun and squeezed off a shot, but it missed completely because of her shaking hands. She tried to make out the attacker but the light blinded her vision. The silhouette of the large man leaning into the entrance covered the dead bodyguards, an ominous presence accompanying his posture.

"Y'all are tucked in here tighter than a mouse in his home," the intruder grunted. "Nice place you've got here, Mrs. Minh. I can tell you have the kind o' family that takes care of each other. S'why I brought your bouncing baby boy to join you in here!"

The large man yanked on something at his feet, something lanky and limp. He tossed whatever it was on top of the dead guards and laughed, apparently happy with his progress at storming her private home she had recently moved in to. It infuriated her that after all her family's work to reestablish themselves in Gotham this buffoon and his agents had taken it all away from them. Rage boiled up inside her but it quickly dissipated when she got a better look at the bloody mess he had thrown in front of her.

It was her son, Tommy, viciously torn apart by gunfire.

"You should have stayed out of Gotham when the 'Haven got nuked," the man continued. "Course, I was practically at Ground Zero when it happened and I'm still bumpin'! Can't say I blame you for trying to get back into the crime business. Old habits and all that."

"Damn you!" she screamed, the tears beginning to form in her eyes.

"Sorry, darlin'. I already been damned." As the final word left his throat he raised his unique weapon and blasted a whole clear through Lady Minh. The force of the shell penetrating her chest flipped her back against the far wall, slamming into the cold concrete with enough power to knock a full-grown man unconscious.

The last member of the once powerful Minh Family slid to the floor, a hole the size of a baseball in the center of her chest. Her killer checked the barrel of his weapon, blowing the smoke out of the tip before turning around to reenter the main house in search of stragglers to murder.

---------------

"WHAT?!?"

Rupert Thorne smashed his fist into the sturdy oak desk he sat behind, his anger seeping through his normally calm demeanor. The mob boss quickly regained his composure but never moved his eyes from the informant standing a few feet in front of him, gently rocking back and forth on his heels.

"Tha--that's what they told me happened, Mr. Thorne," the shaking stool pigeon said.

"Son of a bitch…" Thorne mumbled. "We'll have to move the timetable up. Go tell the others that the operation is moving forward tomorrow, with or without the others behind us."

The lackey muttered his understanding before quickly turning and fleeing the room. Rupert hated having to rely on underlings like him but he had no choice. His return to Gotham had to be kept secret and he couldn't afford to actively recruit anyone yet. He had to make due with whatever dregs he could find until his powerbase was back in place.

His plans to eliminate the Minh Family first and seize their assets had apparently been preempted by someone else, someone who also wished to remain unidentified for the time being. Things would have to happen faster now that his hand had been forced. If someone else was making a play for Gotham's underworld he refused to be left behind.

Since Lady Minh and her bastard children were out of the picture Thorne would simply move to the next player on his list of targets. Within a week he would control Gotham City, even if he had to climb the ladder all over again.

He chuckled as he thought of that first step on the ladder. A fat, obnoxious, pompous imbecile he hated more than most of Gotham's colorful villains.

"By this time tomorrow," Thorne said, "the Penguin will be one dead bird."

---------------

TO BE CONTINUED DURING DAY TWO


	8. STREET SWEEPERS Day 2:Hunting Party

**Nightwing**

Issue #8

"STREET SWEEPERS"

Day Two – Hunting Party

"One thing is for damn sure," Nightwing stated coldly. "They were taken by total surprise. Not a single one of them was prepared for what hit."

The scene surrounding the dark vigilante looked like a war zone. Holes the size of fists had been punched through the walls, a result of some kind of gorilla assault on the compound. The whole area, three acres of private property owned by the late Lady Minh, rested in the heart of Gotham's prestigious suburb of Fox Chapel, a community filled to the brim with wealth and influence. To look at the grounds now, however, it appeared more like a suicide slum.

"I checked the official report the police filed about an hour ago," Renee Montoya said between sips of coffee. "There's a lot of exposition and theories as to exactly what happened but the short side of it is they have no clue what happened."

"Obviously a power move, but by whom? And why now?" Nightwing stood up from his crouch and took in the wreckage that was once the Minh mansion. "Whoever did this wanted no survivors. Since being forced out of Bludhaven and into Gotham, the Minh Family has remained relatively quiet. The son, Tommy, stirred up some trouble a while ago but that fell apart when I found out about it. Other than that, Lady Minh had actually kept to herself."

"Then why go to all the trouble of murdering over forty people?"

"That's why I think it was a power move," Nightwing answered. "There was no reason for it expect to make sure the Minhs were out of the way. First those illegal guns disappear and now this. Something big is coming down the line. Someone is gearing up and getting rid of possible competition."

A chill wind blew in from the North, causing a shiver to run up Montoya's spine. It was after two in the morning, and that coupled with the fact that the official GCPD investigation had ended a few hours ago made it the perfect time for her and Nightwing to get a good look at the crime scene. It had barely been twenty-four hours since the hit, which to Nightwing it meant they were running short on time to garner leads.

"After I left you and Gordon last night I met up with Harvey," Montoya said. "We followed up on a tip concerning the missing weapons from Milton's warehouse. Harv thinks it's bogus but I'm not convinced."

"Let me guess," Nightwing cut in. "You traced part of the shipping manifest?"

"Bingo. The address that the crates full of weapons came from was a fake but the name the place was registered under can't be coincidental with the return of Cobblepot. According to what we found out, the weapons were originally shipped from a depot under the direction of a Mr. Spheniscidae." Montoya took another sip of her coffee in a feeble attempt to shake the cold away, something she knew was futile but continued to do anyway. Gotham nights were notorious for getting under your skin.

"Spheniscidae is a family of bird," Nightwing commented, making the same connection that Montoya had implied. "A family that claims arctic creatures like penguins. Definitely sounds like something Cobblepot would dream up. Why does Bullock think it's bogus?"

"He said it was too obvious. He never thinks things are that easy."

Nightwing tossed a glance over his shoulder at the private detective. "Tell him not to underestimate the ego of a criminal mastermind. Penguin has been moving drugs through the city but I think it was just to finance a bigger operation. Drugs don't provide a stable profit margin and they're too easy to trace back to the supplier. He's smarter than that, even if he's using the local street gangs to distribute."

"So he's graduated to weapons trafficking." Montoya stated. "Who is he selling the weapons to?"

The vigilante swept his gaze over the decimated compound, making a note of the dried blood that laced the inside of the bullet holes. Whatever had torn through the victims' bodies had been powerful enough to keep going through cement walls. Even though the place looked like it had been peppered with buckshot the size softballs he couldn't help but notice a sense of precision to it all. Whatever had caused this was not only powerful and deadly, but also compact and manageable. He had never seen anything like it.

"If we find out who did this I think we'll discover the answer to that question."

--------------------

The traps had been easy enough to detect. He was a world class assassin and had been specially trained to spot the weaknesses in strongholds. A tripwire here, a motion sensor there….overall he was impressed. His prey had made it somewhat difficult for him to gain entrance to the lower tunnel below their headquarters and for that he respected them, regardless of how much hate he housed. However, there was no mistaking it….his prey was just that. Prey.

A typical shrike's beak was curved, like a bird of prey. The assassin sported his own weapons but his tactics were no less deadly. The bird he had taken the name from was especially vicious and well known for impaling its prey on thorns to clear the flesh away. Before long his hunt would conclude with the flesh of his enemy torn and bloodied across his bladed tonfa.

Of course, he knew that his current assignment was only by the grace of his employer. Despite the vendetta he held against Nightwing he was bound to obey whoever signed the checks. The killer Shrike ground his teeth at the thought of the rooftop vigilante, memories of past defeats washing through his honed mind.

Something glistening in the light up ahead broke him out of his thoughts. He had found the entrance to the tunnel simply by homing in on Nightwing's public appearances. He had to have been coming from somewhere and the various traps scattered throughout the tunnel verified for him that he had found it. The dank tunnel was shrouded in almost complete darkness except for a few ventilation slots that also allowed light to circulate with the air. If it wasn't for that small amount of ambient light he might not have seen the opaque box up ahead attached to the bottom of a support pillar.

Approaching cautiously, Shrike flicked open a compact on one of his tonfas, pulling out a tiny multi-tool. The box was hidden exquisitely, but again, Shrike's intensive training had paid off. He worked the tool behind the box, detaching it from its wiring without tripping an alarm. He quickly studied the box, realizing it was a router for the other electrical systems in the tunnel, which meant he now had the key to accomplishing his goal.

Shrike opened the back of the router and began to rewire the inside, smiling devilishly while he worked. It would take a while but time was something he had plenty of, while his prey seemingly ran out of it.

--------------------

The blue and black of Nightwing's uniform mixed in perfectly with the shadows of the early morning hours. After splitting from Montoya, he had made his way across town to Penguin's latest estate acquisition: a stark warehouse named Icetopia. From his perch on top of the building across the street he had a bird's eye view of the front entrance and side alley. He wasn't sure if he should just go in and start busting heads or if a more subtle entrance was in order.

_No telling what kind of firepower Cobblepot has in there_, Nightwing thought. _I was lucky to walk away from the KGBeast, Deadshot, and a new Hyena. Two are in jail so I don't have to worry about running into them, but Deadshot made a clean getaway. There's a good chance he'll be holed up inside with Penguin and whatever lackeys are hanging around._

The building was mostly dark on the outside except for a single overhead light illuminating the loading dock in the alley, along with a small ceiling lamp that Nightwing could make out through the third floor window. The other windows were still boarded up, which didn't surprise the former Boy Wonder. Penguin had only purchased the building a few weeks ago mainly as a distribution center for drugs as opposed to the budding nightclub that he claimed on his tax forms.

Tires squealed, catching Nightwing's attention. The streets were empty as usual this late, but the sound of several motors bounced off of the buildings from a few blocks away. A black sedan rounded the corner and came into his view, rocketing down the bare street and heading straight for him. He had been in situations similar to this often enough to know what was happening.

Three more sedans exactly like the first blazed into view. The windows in the lead car began to roll down, a sure sign of what was about to happen and the verification that Nightwing needed. Springing up from his crouch, Nightwing somersaulted forward into the air and away from the building, falling straight down into the street. At the last possible moment his hand shot out from his curled body, a thin line jetting out to the building he had been perched on. As soon as the high-composite cable latched into the stone wall he yanked back on it hard, cutting his forward velocity in half. His timing was perfect as his arc was cut short from the sudden change in direction, his feet planting firmly on the roof of the first car.

The noise and jarring impact of his landing apparently surprised the driver as the vehicle swerved momentarily. Several male voices from within yelled over the engine as the driver slammed on the brakes, shooting the back of the sedan across the center of the street. The car skidded to a stop in front of Icetopia, its passengers quickly chambering the rounds in their weapons.

_Looks like this is no longer a drive-by_, Nightwing commented mentally. _Now it's a shooting gallery._

Men began to pile out of the other three cars that had screeched to a halt behind the one Nightwing was holding on to. Each of them wore tailored suits and were sporting various weaponry. The first to jump out of the second car, a large black man with a scar over his right eye, leveled a shotgun at the former Boy Wonder and pulled the trigger.

Instinct took over as Nightwing flipped back over the vehicle he had dropped on top of, landed on the street toward the front grill of the sedan. The blast from the shotgun tore into the roof of the car, puncturing it a handful of times but not penetrating all the way through. The cars were apparently armored, meaning for the moment Nightwing was safe from anymore straight out attacks.

_Shield won't last forever. Got to move. _

As if the driver could read his mind, Nightwing noticed an MP-5 assault rifle pointed at his head through the windshield. Nightwing ducked down just in time as a hale of bullets shattered the glass and perforated the hood of the vehicle. The onslaught continued until the clip ran out, regardless of the other passengers' complaints of possible ricochets.

Nightwing ripped his escrima fighting sticks from their place on his back and pivoted around to the side of the car, making sure it was the side opposite the other three cars full of gunmen to keep the obstacle between them as long as possible. Keeping low, the vigilante swiftly punched one of the escrima through the driver's side window and into the face of the man holding the MP-5. The other two passengers struggled to aim around the driver but were too scared to squeeze off a shot while Nightwing ducked back underneath their view.

_Hit and run_, Nightwing thought. _In and out. Keep moving. Don't stop._

The rest of the men from the other black sedans spread themselves out across the street in an effort to flank the Bat's apprentice, while the men inside the first car opened their doors on the side Nightwing wasn't hiding behind, preparing to hop over the roof and gun him down like a helpless stray. He was cornered. In the next few seconds he would be in plane view of not one but a baker's dozen of armed gangsters. He had to act fast or else he would find out just how good his Kevlar costume really was.

"Everybody drop 'em!" a new voice yelled from somewhere above them.

The gunmen all turned their attention upward to see a man in a red and silver costume staring down at them, a rifle held in his hands and pointed in their direction. Nightwing angled his head back to look over the hood of the sedan, blinking in recognition instead of surprise upon seeing Deadshot.

"Don't any of you think for one moment that I can't rip you all to shreds," Deadshot continued. "Thirteen or three hundred….doesn't matter. Not when I've got you in my sights. Now, my backer doesn't particularly want an ocean of blood washing over his front stoop and there's no need to involve the police. Yet. So….like I was saying. Everyone drop your weapons or I'll spread your brains all over the asphalt."

There was no doubt in Nightwing's mind that the assassin meant every word he had spoken. One wrong move from any of these wannabe Goodfellas and it would be Hell on Earth. To make matters worse, there was nothing Nightwing could do. He doubted Deadshot had seen him yet or else he would probably be dead. That gave him a slight edge but for now he was stuck.

Out of the corner of his eye Nightwing saw one of the gunmen take a step forward. His foot didn't even finish touching the ground before his face caved in and the back of his head exploded. Blood and tissue splashed onto the street, coating the yellow lane divider and twisting it into a sick orange hue.

"I wasn't bluffing," Deadshot called down. "Just because Penguin doesn't want to make a scene does not mean I'm not authorized to. Last chance. Leave or die."

Most of the gunmen began to slowly look back and forth between one another, as if they were collectively trying to decide what to do. Nightwing actually found himself holing onto a breath, unsure of what would happen. Even if the thugs took the easy way out and piled back into their cars, once they took off he would be out in the open. Deadshot would be sure to settle the score the two of them had created when they had last met. The only thing worse than a deadly sniper was a deadly sniper with a bruised ego and a grudge.

He looked back and forth between the gunmen and the assassin, waiting for one of them to make a move. Seconds droned on like hours. It was a standoff.

Breaking the silence, the sound of wood being pounded against startled the whole group. Nightwing hunched back and peered through the driver's side window he had just smashed, gaining a perfect view of what was going on. He could see movement behind one of the boarded up windows, a piece of the wood covering it suddenly popping out and hitting the sidewalk below. From inside one of the men he recognized from his last visit to Icetopia, a man Penguin had called Daniel, stuck out a rifle of his own and opened fire.

Nightwing ducked down behind the armored car again, catching a quick glimpse of Deadshot shaking his head in disapproval. _That's what happens when you work with amateurs_, Nightwing thought.

Three more of the gunmen fell under Deadshot's assault while the rest opened fire on the entire building. Two more boarded windows popped open with gunfire immediately blazing through the fresh openings. Bullets landed all around the vigilante, effectively pinning him to his position.

His only chance to not only get out of the way but to possibly end this was to slip under the sedan. Rolling onto his back, Nightwing squirmed his way underneath the armored car. He felt like a turtle hiding there but it was his only option. Bullets continued to rain down from the sky as Deadshot and his gung-ho partners held their advantaged position.

"Oracle? You monitoring?" he asked his earpiece.

: Roger that, Nightwing: the stern feminine voice replied. : Is that gunfire in the background? What's going on:

"I need a distraction in front of Icetopia. I'm pinned down between Floyd Lawton and a pack of gangsters. Give me whatever you've got, babe. I need it sooner than later, unless you want to start looking for a new boy toy."

: Till death do us part, remember? Hang onto your tightrope. :

Nightwing cut the transmission and prepared himself to roll out and jump into a run. Whatever his wife was going to do it needed to be big enough to hold the attention of Deadshot and the rest of the gunmen. He held his breath for the second time in anticipation.

Suddenly all of the gunfire ceased. Without hesitation, Nightwing rolled out from under the car and bolted for the alley beside Penguin's building, not bothering to look over his shoulder to see the distraction Oracle had created.

He flipped up onto the loading dock and kicked the side door in, throwing himself through the new opening and narrowly escaping the returning gunfire. Whatever she had done, Babs had successfully given him exactly what he had asked for.

Making a mental note to get his wife the biggest stocking stuffer he could find this year, Nightwing moved swiftly through the interior of the "club." The inside was barely lit and mostly empty, aside from a worktable filled with an impressive chemistry set. Beakers and burners lined the table, undoubtedly used to break down the drugs before distribution. Wishing he had enough time to wreck the whole lab, Nightwing instead made his way across the expansive room and up a flight of wooden stairs to the second floor where he knew several men were firing their weapons out of the windows.

He bounded up the steps as fast as he could. As soon as he reached the top he sprung into action. There were only five of them total, the first two of which fell to Nightwing's superior speed and grace.

"What the--" one of the men tried to say as he pulled his machine gun out of the window to point at the vigilante. His sentence was cut short from a set of Nightwing's patented wingdings slicing through the air.

Nightwing made short work of the remaining thugs on the second floor before rocketing up to the third. Only a single man stood in the window but what he held scared the former Boy Wonder. It was a pineapple grenade and his finger was on the pin.

His footsteps caught the attention of the thug as he stepped out of the hallway and onto the floor. "Hey!" the thug screamed. "K-keep back! I'll pull this, I swear!"

Nightwing held his ground and stared down the hired lackey. The shadows clung to his costume like a wet blanket, coating him in shrouded mystery. He recognized the man as Daniel and knew that if he had been left behind that Penguin must have escaped.

"I'm dead serious, punk!"

The hero stood tall, the white slots of his mask piercing through the darkness.

"You ain't the Bat. Ain't nothing you can do to me. Back off!"

"You have no idea what I can do to you," Nightwing replied in his deepest and most raspy voice. It didn't hold up to Bruce's but he was sure the thug was ready to urinate on himself. "Set your weapons down and get down on your knees. Now."

"Heh," the thug coughed as sweat began to bead down his face. "You listen t--"

"Now!"

For a moment the goon looked paralyzed with fear, even though he truly held all the cards. Nightwing weighed his options to see if he could cover the distance between them in time or if he was better off ducking back into the hallway and leaping back down to the second floor.

The gunfire from outside finally died off leaving them in a deafening silence. The thug, with sweat beginning to condense under his chin and form a larger droplet that hung loose, slowly lowered the grenade and his gun to the floor. He placed the weapons in front of him, took two steps to the side, placed his hands behind his head, and fell down onto his knees in total servitude.

"Good boy," Nightwing told him.

The hero raced forward and flew across the room, placing a precise kick to the top of the Daniel's head, knocking him out instantly. Nightwing's hands flashed to his gauntlets and then slapped a thin restraining cable around Daniel's hands, ensuring that when he woke up he wouldn't be going anywhere.

That just left Deadshot on the roof.

Nightwing raced back up the stairs again to the only place left above him. He kicked the top door open and launched himself onto the roof, rolling behind a storage shed. Wingdings and grappler in hand, Nightwing flanked Deadshot's last position and readied himself for anything.

Only there was nothing. A quick look around the empty roof told him he was alone. Deadshot had gotten away. Again.

Nightwing peered over the edge of the room to see nothing but shards of glass from the window he broke and a scattering of wasted bullet shells. The men in the black sedans had taken off, too. Nightwing was the only one left.

_Once the gunfire from inside stopped the street thugs must have taken off_, Nightwing pondered. _Deadshot must have left when the rest did since there was nothing left to shoot at. Damn._

He could search the building but he doubted he would find anything. All he had seen when racing through was the chemistry set; there was no sign of crates or containers holding the missing firearms. The night had been a total waste.

Nightwing scratched his head in an effort to alleviate the annoyance of the evening. Dawn would be coming soon and he might as well head back to the Nest. There was nothing left for him here once he checked in with Montoya and had her alert the GCPD.

Raising his head, Nightwing noticed for the first time the giant distraction his wife had so graciously provided for him. The entire front of the building across the street, the building he had been perched on when all this began, was lit up via the various offices that comprised the structure. The lights on the inside of each room were turned on so that it created a simple design that had proved more than enough to hold the attention of Deadshot and the other gunners.

Plastered on the front of the building for everyone to gawk at was a giant smiley face comprised of lit office windows.

--------------------

Shrike finally cracked the codes in the router, granting him access to the main systems of his enemies' base. Several times he had almost given up but the special equipment provided to him by his employer had proven enough to get him through the software. It had been an arduous task but it was complete nonetheless.

The thin vents that allowed him to barely see in the dark tunnel began to let in more and more light. He had lost track of time during his work and morning had been able to sneak up on him. He silently cursed but realized he had no choice in the matter.

He couldn't attack during the day. The night was far better for what he needed to do. He would have to wait.

Shrike settled into a meditative position and made himself comfortable. He couldn't risk sleep since he was already inside the lion's den but his mastery over the martial arts would allow him to recover his strength.

He cleared his mind and waited for the night to fall once again.

--------------------

TO BE CONTINUED DURING DAY THREE


	9. STREET SWEEPERS Day 3:What Lies Beneath

**Nightwing**

Issue #9

STREET SWEEPERS

Day Three – What Lies Beneath

* * *

"Want to try that again?" Renee Montoya asked the henchman as he rubbed his swollen hand.

"Please, officer, there's no need for such brash behavior."

Montoya's dark hair slid off her shoulder as she turned her head to peer through the darkness and match the voice to a face. The henchman, some idiot that had tried to frisk her, grimaced as best he could before hobbling off to the far side of the warehouse. A portly man took his place, a top hat upon his head and an umbrella adorning his wrist. It would have looked silly on anyone but Oswald Cobblepot.

Montoya snorted gently at his comment. "Do you greet all your guests with a pat down?"

"You of all people must recognize the need for security, especially after what happened last night, officer," the Penguin said with perfect enunciation. He considered himself a gentleman among the legally challenged, above the street hoods he employed.

"I haven't been a police officer in over a year," Montoya replied. "But that doesn't mean I'm not here on business."

"Ah, yes," Penguin countered. He stroked the top of his umbrella with his flipper as if petting a precious animal. "I heard you had switched over to the private sector. Harvey treating you well?"

"Better than you were treated last night it seems."

Her words caused a slight hiccup in his otherwise cool demeanor. Penguin shot a quick glance around the inside of his warehouse, a building the tax records indicated as his budding nightclub. In reality it had been a drug lab where he coordinated the street urchins of Gotham to peddle his wares…at least it had been until the gun fight last night.

Three unmarked sedans had pulled up and ripped into the building with machine guns, forcing the Penguin's men to fight back. If it hadn't been for the intervention of Nightwing the building probably would have been laid completely to waste, along with the henchmen inside. The altercation had called the attention of the GCPD, however, and the Penguin was walking on thin ice.

"The authorities have cleared me, m'lady. As you can see I'm rather busy packing up to move to greener pastures. You're _more_ than welcome to accompany me if you so—"

"Stop right there," Montoya said, raising a hand to add to her words. "I said I was here on business, not to vomit in my mouth. Tell me who ordered the hit last night and I'll leave you to do…whatever it is you do."

"To the point, as always, officer." Penguin waddled back a few steps and turned to sit in an office chair, one of the few that wasn't torn to shreds by bullet holes. "Why should I help you exactly? I'm sure you have enough information available to you through other channels, such as annoying rodents with wings. Basically, my dear, what is in it for me?"

"I won't kick your ass for undressing me with your eyes, for one thing. Point me in the right direction and I'll make sure whatever rival wants you dead is taken down a few pegs. You've got nothing to lose and everything to gain by telling me."

Cobblepot leaned back in his chair, rubbing his fat chin with a flipper in contemplation. He smiled, his disgusting tongue visible through the jagged teeth. "The criminal underworld is not without its honor, my darling. However, ask the right questions and we will see what…arises."

Renee felt more like shoving her boot into Penguin's larger than average rear end, but Nightwing had given her an assignment and she needed to pull through. Organized crime in Gotham had been in total chaos over the last few months and it was only a matter of time before the vacuum was filled. The Minh Family was already killed off and now somebody had taken a swipe at Penguin. Once someone was able to wrangle enough control there would surely be a blood bath in the streets.

Montoya swallowed her pride and decided to play Penguin's game. "Who's been putting the biggest dent in your operations?"

"Your costumed associate, obviously. Next question."

"Okay, then what new players are in town?"

"Ah, much better," Penguin said, settling the chair back down onto all four legs. "I see why Nigma gets such delight out of his queries. The answer to that, my blossom, is a single name: Thorne."

"Rupert Thorne?"

Penguin replied with a nod that caused his hat to tilt forward slightly. "Evicted but not forgotten it would seem. He's returned to Gotham and has been putting pressure on my deliveries. I recognized some of the men who perforated my humble abode last night; they work for Thorne."

"Did Thorne take the guns you were using Joshua Milton to transport?"

"Guns? I'm sorry, officer, but I'm at a loss as to what you—"

"I know you were operating an Underground Railroad for hot weapons. I know you were only using the drug running to finance the gun trafficking. Don't play dumb, Cobblepot. It isn't your forte."

One of Penguin's eyebrows raised, knocking his monocle off of his face. For the second time he had shown surprise, something that instantly irritated him. A gentleman was to have complete control of his mannerisms when in the presence of a lady, no matter how rude or uncouth she may be.

"I see," he finally said. "Well, at least your elegance in the matter borders on the polite. You had help from one of the insufferable bats, I assume. But never mind that. The jig, as they say, is up."

"It would seem."

"In answer to your original question, I would have to say that I doubt Thorne was responsible for pilfering my fine weaponry. Those guns were unique; powerful. Thorne is the type that respects that type of power and would use it every chance he had. I got wind of the unfortunate deaths of the Minh family, and the description I've received of that devastating attack befits my stolen merchandise. Thorne's attack on my humble building last night was a typical low-grade scenario. Nothing special on his account."

Montoya remembered looking over the crime scene at the Minh estate and nodded slowly. "You're saying if he had stolen the guns he would have used them last night."

"Precisely, my dear."

"Then who has them?"

"For that answer," the Penguin said as he stood up, "you will have to search elsewhere."

Montoya ignored the insufferable smile that Cobblepot shot at her. She imagined disgusting thoughts running through his mind. The mannerisms he displayed as a so-called gentleman of crime were obviously a façade to anyone who had the misfortune to here him speak. Quite simply, he made her skin crawl.

She had what she had come for, so instead of honoring the Penguin's subtle gestures with a reply she turned and headed for the exit, a list of potential informants already forming in her mind to shake down. Someone in Gotham had to know where the missing weapons were and she was going to find them.

* * *

"You're going to run out of ribs to fracture," Barbara Grayson said to her husband.

Dick mumbled something as he pulled in a sharp breath, wincing in gentle pain. All of the acrobatics he had gone through in foiling the previous nights' hit and run on the Penguin had reopened some old wounds. Bruised and broken ribs from past fights were shallowly aching, the pain just enough to make him squint every time he walked.

"Don't complain," he replied with a wink. "You'll take any old excuse to get my shirt off."

Barbara shot him a fake look of irritation, all the while taken gentle precaution not to cut off her lover's circulation with the medical tape. Housed high above the Grissom Bridge in their headquarters, dubbed the Nest, rested an entire medical station equipped with the latest emergency supplies they might need, including a first-aid kit that looked more like a mobile hospital unit.

The place had served as their home as well as their base of operations. The top of the tower was constructed like a lavish apartment while the bottom opened not only into the river but also a series of tunnels that could provide safe passage into South Gotham. Babs could usually be found tinkering with her computers at the height of the central pillar while Dick, when he wasn't out jumping rooftops, was at the lowest level training or fiddling with his car.

Neither of them had known what to expect from marriage, but they quickly fell into a comfortable daily scenario where each of them were able to keep up with their own activities. In their line of work sometimes it was best to have hobbies and distractions.

"You're in no shape to go out crimefighting tonight," Babs scolded. "You should just stay in and give yourself a chance to heal."

The lights hanging over the pair blinked and then sputtered completely out. Barbara's hand slipped right before cutting the final piece of medical tape from around Dick's midsection, slicing her finger open on the scissors.

"Damn it," she said as she sucked on the tiny cut. It wasn't a serious wound, barely a centimeter wide.

"Hey, I was just kidding about the shirt thing," Dick said. "But if you really want—"

"I didn't turn the lights off, Romeo. We just lost power. The generators should have automatically kicked in by now….something's wrong."

Still in the majority of his Nightwing uniform, Dick felt along the table for his domino mask. Once it was on he slid the night-vision lenses into place and looked around the darkened room. Behind the green hue of the lenses he saw Barbara sitting in her wheelchair, shaking her cut finger to toss away the last bit of pain. The rest of the room was empty – they were alone.

"I'll head to the base of the pillar and check it out," Nightwing said. "See if you can reroute things from up here."

"Be careful," she urged. "This wouldn't be the first time we've had a rat in the tunnel."

"Or a bat in the belfry."

* * *

Since the elevator that normally transported him from the Nest to the base level ran on electricity, Nightwing had to use the emergency fireman's pole that ran alongside the same shaft. Gently hopping into the mostly open space and wrapping his legs and hands around the pole, Nightwing quickly began sliding toward the waiting sublevel.

_I'm about ready to fall over as it is_, Nightwing thought. _The past couple of nights have really taken their toll on me. I need to stay focused and hope this is nothing more than the result of the hair dryer being plugged into the same socket as the microwave._

He had left his gauntlets down in the garage when he coming home the previous evening, along with the top half of his uniform. His bare palms burned from the friction of sliding down the fireman's pole, but he put most of the pressure on his thighs since the lower half of his costume could take the punishment.

The shaft ran down the entire central pillar. It would take almost a full minute to reach the bottom at the speed he was going. He kept his eyes focused on the green tinted darkness beneath him as he steadily slid down to his destination.

Suddenly, twin metallic noises cut through the silent journey. He caught site of two objects flying straight for him just in time to dodge. He released his grip on the pole and leaned back, holding tight with his legs so the objects missed him, albeit barely. Louder clangs sounded as the objects imbedded themselves in the shaft wall above him. He tossed a quick glance up to see what had almost taken his head off and immediately grimaced with contempt.

The two silver shurikens gleamed in his night-vision lenses, their deadly intent as obvious as their existence. Nightwing seldom swore, instead letting his actions convey harsh emotion for him. As he dangled by his legs at least seventy-five feet in the air, in the dark, while bruised and tired and without most of his equipment, he couldn't help himself.

"Shit on a stick…."

The now familiar noises rung more clearly this time, prompting him to simply let go of the pole completely. He felt, more than saw, three more shurikens slip by him and impact somewhere above him. He began to fall, his back scraping against the wall. Normally he would have shot out a grapple line at this point, but since he didn't have one to save himself with, he had to improvise.

His boots held a few compartments near the brim where he kept various tiny gadgets useful to a vigilante. Gas pellets, extra wingdings, and high-composite cable were among his meager stockpile, the last of which being the most important.

Nightwing's fall quickened as gravity latched onto him. He only had a few seconds before he permanently stained the floor of his own lair. A mere twenty feet from the ground, Nightwing slapped the end of the cable onto the wall where it adhered instantly from the pressure. The cable, specially designed by his past mentor in case of emergencies when using a grapple just wasn't possible, easily saved him just in time.

Nightwing bounced back up a few inches after reaching the end of the cord. He let go and fell into a crouch, his bruised ribs reminding him to be especially careful.

"As sharp as ever," a familiar voice said from the shadows. "But it looks like I've come at a bad time. A little banged up, are we?"

The vigilante slowly turned to search for his opponent, a deadly assassin whose voice he had recognized. A vicious killer that held a misunderstood vendetta against Nightwing, the villain known as Shrike was waiting somewhere in the sublevel, his voice ricocheting off of the walls and making it impossible to pinpoint his location.

"What do you want, Shrike?" Nightwing knew that his opponent had a deep hatred for him and he might be able to use that to his advantage, as long as he could keep him talking. "Ready for another beating?"

"You think you're so clever, don't you? You have no idea what's going on in your own city. And pretty soon you won't know what's happening at all."

"What are you talking about?" Nightwing replied as he swung his head once more, trying to cut through the darkness with his lenses. So far the only thing he saw was his own equipment.

"See what I mean?" Shrike countered, the arrogance in his voice evident. "You're clueless. You know, I told my employer I would have gladly killed you for free but he insisted on payment. I've been sitting right under your nose, waiting for just the right moment to strike, and last night I finally got clearance."

"Your employer? I thought you were done taking orders from windbags, Shrike. What's the matter….times get tough being a washed up, has-been lapdog?"

"Goad me all you want. I'm talking to a dead man anyway."

Nightwing finally centered his attention on where Shrike's voice was coming from, but it was already too late. The masked assassin shot out from behind the lab equipment and bashed the side of his tonfa into Nightwing's skull, knocking him back against a stack of crates. He managed to roll with the hit at the last second, but it still brought stars to his eyes.

He heard a switch being flipped and ducked just below a newly liberated serrated edge on Shrike's other tonfa. The jagged blade dug into the crates, slicing the entire corner off of the top one. Nightwing thrust out his elbow into Shrike's abdomen and quickly followed it up by slamming his other elbow into the villain's chin. The perfectly executed Muy Thai maneuver sent Shrike reeling back, shaking his head to re-center himself.

"Easy does it, little birdie," Shrike mocked. The eerie green hues that filtered through Nightwing's lenses made the sneer on Shrike's face even more disturbing than normal. "If you lie down and die like a man I promise to go easy on your little lady."

Rage built up in Nightwing quicker than he would have thought possible. The bane before him, his own personal antithesis, had the audacity to threaten the person he cared about most. He bent low enough for his hands to reach the cusp of his boots before springing at the assassin, launching all of his momentum behind one powerful kick.

Shrike blocked the attack with his tonfa, easily avoiding what would have been a crippling blow. "Is that the best you've got?" he mocked.

"Nope," Nightwing eagerly replied. "This is."

Using the momentum from his jump, Nightwing struck his palms down onto each side of Shrike's masked face. The impact from the connections was enough to shatter the capsules he had palmed from his boot cusps, blanketing the villain is a dark cloud of thick smoke.

Shrike screamed both in surprise and sudden anger. The smoke was heavy, instantly clinging to his costume in the form of soot. He rubbed at his eyes but the handlebars of his tonfas kept his fingers from being able to clear the soot away. He finally dropped the weapons in favor of his vision, letting them clatter to the floor.

"Now we're a little more even," Nightwing said as he spun around and planted another kick on Shrike's body, this one fully slamming into his chest.

Shrike roared in unsettling brutality as he swung his arms wildly, catching Nightwing's chin with the back of one of his fists. The precise etiquette of his training usually held strong, keeping his anger suppressed during a battle. But after spending what seemed like an eternity cooped up in a tiny apartment, waiting for the order to strike against an opponent he hated with all his soul…something inside of Shrike simply snapped.

Through the haze of the dispersing cloud of smoke, Shrike batted away Nightwing's fist and returned the punch in full force, rattling the hero's teeth. Another hit was followed up by a roundhouse kick, followed by an uppercut, followed by finer jab at his throat.

Nightwing backpedaled during the assault, nearly tripping over his own feet. One of his lenses cracked, scattering his already limited vision even further along into darkness. He stumbled up against his automobile, a custom built hotrod that was currently missing its doors from his attempts to adjust the inner workings of them.

"Tonight is the night you die," Shrike threatened in disturbing calmness. He stalked toward the former Boy Wonder, sure of the direction his prey was in regardless of the lack of light.

"You know something funny," Nightwing replied just as calmly, "I hear that a lot and it just occurred to me: I'm the good guy. Good guys always win."

Nightwing slipped inside the car easily, thanks to the missing door. He heard Shrike stomp his foot against the side of the vehicle right where he had been pushed against. Flipping a series of small switches on the dashboard, Nightwing pressed one last button and bailed out through the opposite side of the car.

"Run all you want," Shrike said, "but you're already damaged goods. You can't hold out for long and you can't run forev—AHH!"

A piercing shriek filled the sublevel completely, causing both fighters to clamp hands around their ears. The directional sonic emitter under his car, a non-lethal device he had most recently used to subdue street gangs, bombarded the entire chamber with sound waves. Unfortunately the earplugs Nightwing kept in his utility belt were on the other side of the room, so he was just as much a victim of the sonic pelting as Shrike was.

The dangerous assassin fell against the hood of the car. He slid down, screaming from the pain and punishment his eardrums were forced to experience. His proximity to the emitter made him take the brunt of the attack while Nightwing had been able to duck behind some crates, however little buffering they offered. Hitting the cold ground, Shrike knocked against the tip of the sonic emitter, feeling its vibrations against his back. He reluctantly pulled one hand off of his ear, removing the only small amount of protection he had. His hand wavered but he managed to grasp the end of the emitter and rip it from the undercarriage, immediately cutting off the explosive noise.

"Damn you, you little….you….you…." Shrike's voice trailed off as he pulled himself back onto his feet, using the hood to prop himself up.

Nightwing's ears were still ringing but he was obviously fairing better than Shrike. A person's equilibrium can be upset by disturbing their inner ear, which was what the hero hoped had happened to his opponent. Barely able to see through the one good lens, Nightwing swiftly came up behind Shrike and prepared to deliver a final blow.

Something banged off of his foot and clanged around on the ground. Nightwing jumped back, realizing that one of the crate's had broken open during their fight and spilled his spare escrima sticks all over the floor. He fell into a quick stance, planting his feet and getting ready to counter whatever attack Shrike was about to strike with.

But he didn't move. Shrike just stood there, leaning against the front of the car, breathing deeply.

"What's the matter, Shrike? All the bells and whistles still blaring?"

Shrike continued to remain completely still, gasping for breath. The hero approached cautiously, knowing full well that his opponent had played possum on more than one occasion. His hand, tense and ready to spring back to safety, raised out to touch Shrike on the shoulder when the lights suddenly came back on.

The sight before Nightwing was horrific. Blood was pooling at Shrike's feet, slowly being pumped out from his ears. He watched with a sick fascination as Shrike wobbled slightly before falling over completely.

Nightwing rushed to his enemy's side, rolling him onto his side so that he wouldn't choke on his own tongue. He looked Shrike over, wishing that the lights would have stayed off so he wouldn't have to look upon the ugly scene that appeared as if it were lifted straight from a horror movie.

"You won't see it coming…." Shrike muttered feebly. "Anarchy in the streets. You're dead, you little….you…."

Shrike passed out, but whether it was from the pain, the blood loss, or the exhaustion Nightwing wasn't sure. All he had now were even more questions then he did twenty-four hours ago.

* * *

"Ol' whats-his-face ain't reported in yet, boss."

The bulky figure stood before his master, the man he owed his rebirth to. The Stetson upon his brow covered most of his face. As soon as his master turned to face him he remembered the hat and immediately removed it, having forgotten that his benefactor preferred to look into the face of whom he spoke to.

"Shrike has been defeated," the slender man replied. "I anticipated this. I sent the assassin to rattle Nightwing's feathers, never intending the imbecile to actually thwart the young man. Shrike's inability to separate his emotions from the task at hand was his downfall, I'm sure of it. He was careless."

"So what's up next on our plate?" the larger man asked. "I get to see some action again? Maybe take those guns we yanked for another test drive?"

His master wore a mask covering his entire face, so the smile he gently formed could not be seen. "Soon enough. Tomorrow night I think will be the perfect opportunity to put our plans into motion. Get me Commissioner Bastille. Have him here tonight and don't allow him to disagree with you. We have work to do."

"Fair enough. I never liked that Shrike guy anyway. I ever tell you Blockbuster sold me out to that bastard? What a co—"

"That will be all, Stallion."

The bulky figure, reminiscent of a cowboy, nodded in understanding and replaced his hat as he exited the room. He knew better than to cross his master. As a mercenary Stallion had only given respect and loyalty to whoever signed his paychecks, but he had to admit that if he was ever against a wall, he would want his new master on his side.

He closed the door behind him and turned to follow the stairs back down into the top floor of the Gotham City Police Department. He smirked as he thought of the ironic situation he was a part of: Gotham's soon to be newest crime lord lived right on top of the city's own police headquarters.

But soon enough the whole city wouldn't care one bit. In fact, Stallion was ready to bet money on the fact that before long every person in Gotham would look at his master and see their savior, gift wrapped by God.

* * *

TO BE CONTINUED DURING DAY FOUR


	10. STREET SWEEPERS Day 4:Pieces to a Puzzle

**Nightwing**

Issue #10

STREET SWEEPERS

Day Four – Pieces to a Puzzle

"Are you sure he's going to live?"

Dick Grayson leaned against the wall, his eyes closed. His typical nightly attire had been traded in for a muscle shirt and jeans, in which he felt oddly uncomfortable in. He glanced at his wife, Barbara, and nodded.

She returned his apathetic look and wheeled her chair closer to him. In the top level of their lair, called the Nest, they had living quarters where they could hole up away from the world. Even though this was their bedroom, it felt more like a prison at the moment.

"It was you or him, Dick," Barbara continued. "The sonic emitter was too high, and it affected you, too."

"The difference is I didn't get sent to the hospital. Shrike did."

Barbara sighed. The previous evening Nightwing's old rival, a member of the League of Assassins named Shrike, had somehow invaded the Nest and gotten the drop on them. It was through sheer luck and force of will that they had survived the encounter, largely due to Dick remotely using the sonic emitter on his vehicle to disable Shrike.

"But he's _alive_, Dick. You should be more concerned with who sent him to kill you or how he found us in the first place."

Dick rubbed the bridge of his nose and pushed off of the wall and began pacing. "You're right. Of course you're right. You're always right."

"The price of being married."

He smirked. "Shrike has found me before just by studying my movements. Since he showed up here it means I need to be more careful. Here's what we know so far: Penguin organized the local street gangs to push heroin and used the money to move into weapons trafficking."

"Josh Milton was using his company as a front to help Penguin move the guns," Barbara added.

"Until Prometheus killed him, which is how we stumbled onto this whole mess in the first place."

"Right, and now the guns have completely vanished."

Dick moved to the kitchen counter and reached for a bag of coffee beans. "Not vanished," he said. "Just hidden. Whoever wiped out the Minh family did it with those weapons. Those weapons left the compound in total shambles. We're looking at some serious firepower here."

"So whoever stole the guns from Penguin used them in a power move to wipe out the Minh crime family."

"And another move was made against Penguin two nights ago, but thanks to me and, of all people, Deadshot, it didn't work." Dick put the beans into a grinder and smacked the on button, forcing him to raise his voice as he continued to speak. "Renee checked in and said after talking with Penguin that it looks like Rupert Thorne put the hit on him that night, but Penguin doesn't think it was Thorne who stole the guns from him."

"Meaning that Thorne probably didn't do the Minh job," Barbara reasoned. "He would have used the guns."

"Exactly." Seeing that the beans were ground into submission, he removed the sweet smelling powder and placed it into the coffeemaker. "That means we have three big players to worry about: Penguin, Thorne, and our mystery bad guy."

"It seems like the mystery bad guy is more or less playing Penguin and Thorne off each other while he moves closer toward his actual agenda. An agenda that has to do with some serious firepower."

A yellow light overhanging the kitchen doorway flashed on, casting a soft hue over the room. Dick looked at it briefly, tensed, and shot a look at his wife. "What's that?" he asked, deducing that if the alarm were more serious that sirens would be blaring. Still, he was on edge from the Shrike invasion.

"Motion sensor," she replied. "Don't worry, I think I know who it is. I told him to use the East entrance when he wanted to visit."

The former Batgirl maneuvered her way, quite acutely, through the still unpacked boxes of their secret apartment. Her wheelchair would never be recognized as a hindrance given her adeptness at getting around in it. On the counter sat her laptop, powered up and opened to display images bring broadcast from her security cameras around the Nest. Once she looked at the display in the lower right corner, she smiled.

"Hope you're ready for an unexpected visit from the mayor of Gotham City," Barbara said.

* * *

"And here I thought the women of Gotham had forgotten about me."

Renee Montoya had pulled back her hair before walking into Muscelli's Fine Italian Dining. She knew going in that things had the chance of going South on her, which meant that she wanted the least amount of distractions possible. She didn't make a habit out of drawing her weapon, especially since she was a private investigator these days. It cut down on the paper work. Still, in a place like Muscelli's, owned by a man like Rupert Thorne, she had to be cautious.

No sooner had she walked through the double doors than the fat man himself, Thorne, had stared her down and addressed her directly. The mobster could pick out his enemies from a mile away. It was probably how he had survived so long.

"I wouldn't say they've forgotten you," Renee replied. "Although I'm sure they tried. Hard to forget someone of your…stature."

The mobster smiled. She didn't know exactly when he had returned to Gotham, but she knew it couldn't have been long. Keeping your movements a secret when you were Rupert Thorne was a hard thing to do. She felt his eyes as he looked her over. He sat on the far side of the restaurant with his back to the wall and a pair of gunmen in his pocket. Some might call it paranoia. Renee knew it was just habit.

"Surely you came for more than the banter, detective," Thorne said as he turned his attention back to the plate of ravioli in front of him. "Or did you plan on joining me for lunch? I'm sure we can squeeze you in."

He motioned and one of the gunman stood up and moved against the side wall. Renee spotted the bulge in his coat and made a note that he was right-handed. She moved the chair out with her foot and sat down, leaving her hands in her coat pockets.

"Depends," she said. "What's good here?"

"What do you want?"

"Answers. Penguin seems to think that you tried to have him killed the other night."

Rupert Thorne huffed out a small laugh. "That bird boy thinks everyone is after him. I'm a business man, not a killer. And you, if I recall, aren't a cop anymore. That means your interests are less than professional, which is bizarre, since my boys tell me you swing for the other team now."

Renee didn't even blink. She had expected such comments. "I'm not above taking a swing at your head, Thorne. Why did you order the hit on Penguin?"

"Please. If I had ordered a hit, and I'm not saying I did, do you really think I would have _missed_? Penguin has made all sorts of enemies as of late. From what I understand, he even has enemies in the police department."

"Criminals often do."

Thorne shook his head. "Not what I meant. The man that replaced Gordon as commissioner, what do you know about him?"

This time, Renee did blink. She hadn't expected such an open response by the mobster that had single-handedly forced Gotham into a total crime spree years ago. Was he distracting her or pointing her in the right directon?

"You're saying that the Gotham City Police Department has a commissioner that would send hitmen after a crime boss?" Renee asked.

"Oh, I'm not saying he made the move against Penguin the other night," Thorne said as he leaned in closer over his ravioli. "I'm saying, as a legit business man with renewed interests in this city, that a man like the new commissioner wouldn't get my vote in a public election. Maybe you ought to take your hostility over to his office and get out of my restaurant."

Realizing that she had gone as far as she was going to get with the mobster, Renee Montoya stood up. The sudden move made the man against the wall flinch, instinctively moving for his hidden weapon. She eyeballed him as she stepped away from the table, but he didn't make any further moves, allowing her to go without trouble.

"I'll be opening a new establishment down by the docks soon, detective," Thorne called after her. "If you need a new source of income, I think you'd be perfect for a position there. Several positions, as a point of fact."

Renee ignored the chortles of laughter from Thorne and his men as she left Muscelli's. She would report in to Nightwing after she got more information. She couldn't help but think, however, that instead of being distracted or pointed, that Thorne had done his best to try and aim her.

* * *

"Not exactly the kind of place I dreamed for you," James Gordon said, "but it's sure to measure up to your needs."

Barbara smiled at her father, the former commissioner and current mayor of Gotham City, as he sat down in the Nest's version of a living room. Having sat in many police precincts watching her father work in her youth, she had come to know James Gordon as more than a father. He was a leader, a professional, and a dedicated man. She admired him.

"We're still working on getting things under control here," Dick said as he passed Gordon a cup of steaming hot coffee. "For now, it's functional."

"This anything like the cave your mentor made mention of to me?"

"Capabilities, yes," Dick answered. "Style, no. But it lets us be closer to the city, where we're needed."

"More to life than style anyway. Good coffee."

"Not to dissuade you from a fatherly visit," Barbara said, "but what brings you around, dad?"

Gordon reflexively reached into his coat for his pipe, but pulled his empty hand away. Old habits die hard, and for a man who had been smoking for twenty years, his were especially lively. The motion didn't go unnoticed by his daughter, but she remained quiet as she waited for him to answer her.

"I've been looking into the man who replaced me," Gordon said. "The new commish has a pretty clean background."

"Franklin Bastille?" Dick commented. "Haven't met him, but the papers say he hates me."

"The papers are right. But his jacket with the force is unblemished. Spotless. Perfect."

"So?" Barbara asked. "So is yours."

"Not quite, honey, but thank you. You stay on the force long enough and you're bound to get a spot or two on your record thanks to the dogs in internal affairs. If you're even interviewed as part of an investigation concerning another officer it gets noted in your jacket. This Bastille, he has nothing linking him to anything of the sort."

"Meaning his file has been doctored?" Dick asked.

"Meaning his jacket reads more like _Treasure Island_ than a police record," Gordon replied. "Total fiction. This guy is dirty, I know it."

"Something tells me you didn't leave it at that."

"Hell, no. I still have friends at GCPD. It seems that Bastille has spent a lot of time going over anything where your alter-ego has been spotted. He's relentless. He's been signing out evidence, sworn statements from witnesses, even asking the officers on scene about what they saw."

"He's searching for me?" Dick asked. "He's publicly stated in the papers that vigilantes aren't welcome in Gotham. I figured he would assign a task force, but investigating personally doesn't make sense. He's the commissioner. He doesn't get involved in the scud work like that. Why would—"

"Shrike," Barbara said. "He's the one that hired Shrike. It fits."

Dick's eyes narrowed and he nodded. "Bastille used the information he had to point Shrike in the right direction. We're exposed here. Bastille could know where the Nest is."

Setting his empty coffee mug down, Dick strode across the roof and entered the bedroom. Gordon stood, alert and ready, sensing the sudden tension. "What can I do?" he said.

Barbara wheeled around the furniture back to her laptop to double check the security feeds. She would be lying to herself if she thought that Shrike's attack hadn't startled her. This was their home now, their place of solitude. Now that Shrike had invaded that sense of privacy she felt uneasy.

"Take Barbara back to your place," Dick said from the other room. "Or better yet, City Hall. Bastille wouldn't dare make a move there, not with so many people around. We don't have any reason to believe he knows who we really are yet. The farther you are from here, the safer you are."

"Dick, we're not leaving—"

"Yes," he said as he stepped back out of the bedroom, this time wearing his black and blue uniform. "You are. This isn't up for debate. The Nest has been compromised more than we thought. It's not safe here."

Barbara reluctantly nodded in acknowledgement. She didn't want to feel violated in her home, but she was nonetheless. She traded a look with her father before saying, "And what about you?"

Nightwing slipped his domino mask into place and picked up his escrima fighting sticks from their place on the wall. "Me?" he said. "I'm going to pay Bastille a little visit and see what I can dig up."

* * *

Hours later, under the cover of a night sky, the man who had been raised by the Dark Knight stood on a rooftop overlooking the city. He had been in this area many times. A row of apartment buildings lined the streets, providing decent housing in a decent neighborhood for honest residents. The only times he had been through here was in pursuit of a suspect.

Tonight, however, his suspect was _inside_ the building. The apartment that Franklin Bastille occupied was two floors beneath where he stood, currently empty. He had checked at GCPD headquarters before arriving here to ensure that he wouldn't be disturbed inside.

Bastille was more than he let on. There was something about him that rang untrue. He was pretending to be someone he obviously was not. Nightwing wanted to know why, and more importantly, he wanted to know who Bastille _really_ was.

The former boy wonder dropped down to the ledge outside Bastille's bedroom window. With practiced precision, he slipped a special device designed by the Batman himself between the two window panes and undid the latch. He easily lifted the window and slipped inside the apartment.

Taking a small light from his belt, Nightwing swept over the room once. His trained eyes only needed one quick glance to take everything in. Whatever Bastille was hiding, he would have hidden it in a limited number of places. All Nightwing had to do with search.

Before he reached the closet he heard a few floorboards creek from somewhere else in the apartment. He flattened himself against the wall, doused his light, and retrieved one of his escrima sticks from where it sat against his shoulder blade.

The creek continue as the other person in the apartment came toward the bedroom. His entrance, while close to perfect, had apparently still alerted someone to his presence. He raised his escrima, ready to smash down on the first thing he saw.

Renee Montoya stepped into the bedroom, leading with her drawn handgun.

Nightwing clasped his open hand around her wrist, saying, "Easy, partner."

The ex-cop reacted by pulling her arms away, but Nightwing held onto her arm. She met his gaze and relaxed. "Jesus," she muttered. "Thanks for the warning. I thought he had come back."

"Bastille?" Nightwing said as he replaced his escrima to its holding place.

Renee nodded. "I'm almost done here. I was about to call you. How'd you know I was here?"

"I didn't. Got a tip that Bastille needed looking in to. You?"

"Thorne. He didn't outright admit to sending goons after Penguin, but he had to say that. He alluded that the new commish was dirty."

"What did you find out?"

Renee put her gun back into its holster and motioned for Nightwing to follow her. They walked into a second bedroom that looked immaculate, as if no one had ever slept there since the building's construction. "You know these pajama whackos better than I do," she said. "Recognize this?"

She pulled the closet door open and slid the clothes hanging within back. Behind them, pinned to the wall almost like a shrine, was a blue, blue, and silver costume. Armored shoulder pads crested the top of the suit and a black mask hung to the right of the ensemble.

"This is not good," Nightwing said.

"You know this nutcase, then?"

"His name is Lyle Bolten. Better known as Lock-Up."

"The guy that took over Blackgate prison just after the Earthquake?" Renee asked. "He's as loony as they come. What's he doing out of prison?"

"Good question. He must have gotten plastic surgery, otherwise I would have recognized Bastille immediately." Nightwing slapped a palm against his forehead. "Duh. Bastille. His name is Bastille."

"So?"

"Bastille is French for prison. It's his motif. We need to get—"

KRA-BOOM!

The front door to the apartment exploded inward. Chunks of wood peppered the hallway just inside, covering the carpeting with splinters. Nightwing crouched down and branded both of his escrimas while Renee again withdrew her handgun. The pair hovered in the second bedroom, listening carefully. The ringing from the sudden intrusion was quickly subsiding, leaving them able to easily hear the assailant step into the apartment.

"Hellooo," a drawl voice said. "Don't make me have to come in and get y'all. Come out and play!"

"You've got to be kidding me," Nightwing whispered. "I recognize that voice anywhere."

"Should I be surprised, too?" Renee asked.

"Not unless dead bad guys pop back into your life all the time."

Without explaining, Nightwing gallantly stood and sprinted across the hallway separating the bedrooms. Just after he passed through the first doorway he leapt, spinning a half rotation in the air. He tossed one of his escrima sticks with the momentum the spin built, sending it straight for the uninvited guest's head.

The end of the escrima stick slammed into the broad man's head while Nightwing fell into a roll in the first bedroom. He heard he thump of the escrima hitting its mark, but was only disheveled once his brain processed what his eyes had briefly seen.

The intruder was a few inches taller than Nightwing with shoulders twice as wide. Nightwing had come to know him during several altercations back in Bludhaven, although he hadn't thought that he'd be able to survive a nuclear blast.

He had assumed that this man, who as far as he knew, had been in Blockbuster's main office at the time that Bludhaven was leveled by a fifty ton, walking, talking, nuclear reactor, had died a quick and painless death from the explosion. Apparently, he had assumed incorrectly.

The mercenary named Stallion, as impossible as it was, was now standing at the front door to the apartment, brandishing a strange rifle that Nightwing couldn't identify. But that wasn't all.

"Ouch," Stallion said. "Still got your little toys. Might take a bit more than yo-yos tonight, kid."

Stallion's skin was no longer the normal hue of a Caucasian. It was nearly a blank white, with cracks of pale gray tracing along his muscles. The mercenary looked, for all intents and purposes, like a zombie.

Maybe he really had died that day in Bludhaven.

The sight unnerved Nightwing. That, coupled with the fact that the apartment was small and he didn't have much room to maneuver, alarmed Nightwing. He was already on edge because of what had happened with Shrike. How many more villains were going to come gunning for him?

Renee Montoya pulled back the hammer on her weapon and stayed low to the floor. She whipped her arm around the doorway and unloaded three rounds into Stallion's center mass. She pulled back and shot Nightwing a started look.

"He didn't even budge," she said.

"That's it, darlin'!" Stallion said with encouragement. "You show me yours, and I'll show ya mine!"

Stallion pulled the trigger on the hefty rifle in his hands and a second condensed explosion shook the apartment furniture. The blast went over both Nightwing and Renee's heads, but the shot tore into the wall and completely blasted out the window that Nightwing had entered through. Nightwing was amazed that such a controlled destruction shell could be shoved into the relatively small weapon.

Putting two and two together, Nightwing realized that this was the same weapon, or at least the same model, that he and Renee had been searching for. The same deadly gun that Joshua Milton, before his murder at the hands of Prometheus, had been trafficking for the Penguin.

"This is easier than shootin' up them Chinese," Stallion said as he cocked his rifle. "They was running everywhere. They didn't have the decency to sit still like you folk. I do appreciate that, and so does the big boss man."

A confession to the devastation done at the Minh residence. Nightwing had been on the scene after the fact, witnessing the brutal murder of several men, women, and children.

"I figured you had higher standards for who you worked for," Nightwing called out. "Lock-Up is a far cry from someone like Blockbuster."

"You mean Bastille? Or whatever name he use. That guy got some guts. But he's not pulling my strings, kid. He's hired help, just like me."

Another blast tore a chunk out of the wall that Nightwing was hiding behind. Plaster was turned to dust, kicked up into the room like a cloud of fine ash. Too many more shots and there wasn't going to be an apartment building left.

Renee motioned from where she was cowering behind the wall, catching Nightwing's attention. She pointed her finger toward herself, then the ceiling, then at him, then at the floor. The intent was clear, although he wasn't sure if it would work.

She held up her hand for him to see and then counted off one, two, three with her fingers. When she got to three, Nightwing was ready to pounce. She again swung her arm out and fired off several quick shots at the ceiling.

Nightwing shot out into the hallway, keeping low and to the right. Renee's gunfire went high and to the left, serving as a distraction to the mercenary. Before Stallion realized what was happening, Nightwing had covered half the distance between them.

The mercenary lowered his powerful weapon at the vigilante, but Nightwing smashed into his kneecaps before he could squeeze off another shot. Nightwing smacked the gun away and drove his knee into Stallion's midsection as hard as he could.

He followed up the strike with another, using his remaining escrima stick to bash in Stallion's face. The mercenary shrugged off the blows and returned with one of his own, punching Nightwing in his chest and forcing the air out of his lungs. Stallion was on top of him, about to wrap his arms around Nightwing and crush the life out of him.

KRA-BOOM!

Stallion was sent flying back into the hallway, his shirt and chest torn to shreds. Nightwing ducked in reaction to the blast and spun to see Renee hefting the dropped weapon that Stallion had used to pin them down. He scowled at her and then rushed to Stallion.

The mercenary slid off of the opposing wall in the hallway and fell in a heap to the floor. Amazingly, he was breathing. His burnt white skin was flaking away and the gray veins running all over him were bleeding red blood, but he was alive.

Renee rushed up behind Nightwing. "Is he down?" she asked.

"He's not dead," Nightwing shot back. "What were you thinking?"

"I was thinking I didn't want to get my head blown off tonight."

"We need to get someone here to—"

Blood spit out of Stallion's mouth and onto his bare chest. He choked out a wincing sound and his eyes began to roll into the back of his head. "N-nice one," he said. "Too bad y-you're too l-late."

"What?" Nightwing asked. "What does that mean?"

Stallion coughed up more blood. "Late. Big boss m-man already making his move t-tonight."

The mercenary slumped to the floor and passed out. Nightwing checked his vitals and felt a weak pulse and saw that he was still breathing. He quickly stood and turned to Renee. "Call this in," he told her. "He needs medical attention."

"Call who? Bastille, the commish, is in on this!"

Nightwing reached for a small black device on his belt no larger than a thumb. "Use this. It goes straight to Checkmate. Have them send a recovery team here immediately. Tell them I told you to make the call. They'll be here in minutes."

Nightwing turned to run back into the apartment, heading straight for what was left of the window he had entered through. It would be faster for him to get back down to the street was his ride waited if he simply dove out into the night. He would throw out a cable halfway down and repel the rest of the way.

If whatever Stallion said was happening tonight was even half as bad as what had been done to the Minh family, Nightwing had to move quickly to stop it. Since Stallion was in no condition to give him valuable information, that meant he had to track down the only other man that could.

Lock-Up.

* * *

"You want us to do what again, boss?"

He had recruited this pitiful army from the dregs of Gotham, searching out the sewers and hideouts of known criminals. With enough money greasing the right palms it had been simply enough to get them to do what he asked, especially since he only wanted them to do what they did best.

It had taken time to gather them, and of course, he could only do that once he had liberated the special weapons from Penguin's flippers. Finally, after all the planning, it was time. He had tested the weapons against the Minh family, one of the few residents of Gotham that could organize and challenge him.

"I want you," the cloaked man said, "to go have fun. Run through the streets of Gotham, loot, pillage, et cetera."

The thug at the head of the pack looked over his shoulder at his brethren, who were all but smiling. He turned back to the man who had recruited them, saying, "And all you want us to do is shoot the place up with these things?"

The large weapon in the thug's hand, identical to the others that had been passed around amongst the collections of base criminals, was large and seemingly potent. It was unlike anything they had seen before and most were eager to try them out against whatever stood in their way.

"These _things_," he replied, "as you so eloquently put it, are tools. The tools of chaos. Once Gotham City is tossed into utter chaos because of your actions tonight, they won't have very many choices for who to turn to."

"So we just go out and do our stuff, no questions asked?"

The cloaked man nodded. "No questions asked."

The thug smiled and he turned to rally the rest of the criminals. They were the lowest of the low that Gotham had to offer, no where near on par with the masterminds that the city seemed to draw out. They were good for only one thing, and that was ensuring that tonight the laws and intuitions that the citizens held dear would come crashing down.

He would have the perfect vantage point from atop GCPD headquarters. It was here that most of his plans had been formulated and it was here that he would witness the beginning of the end for Gotham City. At least, until his new beginning could commence.

Behind him, his accomplice approached. He heard the noise of the footsteps and judged the heavy weight to belong to none other than his right hand during this operation.

"Stallion spotted the vigilante entering my place a few minutes ago," Commissioner Bastille told the cloaked man. "He's engaging him as we speak. With luck, that hillbilly will take care of Nightwing for us."

"One can hope," the mystery man said, distracted by the sight of his less-than-elite troops stalking off to cry havoc.

Under his instruction, these mindless extensions of his will would line the streets of Gotham City with madness.

And then chaos would reign.

TO BE CONTINUED DURING DAY FIVE


End file.
